


The Kind of Dice You Throw

by perfectlystill



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Multi, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-25
Packaged: 2019-03-18 15:10:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 21,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13684203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perfectlystill/pseuds/perfectlystill
Summary: He's shown his marks to complete strangers, to any queen who happened to be at the clubs in Milwaukee and Chicago, and to each and every boyfriend he's ever had. But the tilt of Katya's chin and the intrigue and softness in her eyes gives Brian pause.Trixie has two soulmate marks. It takes her a while to figure it out.





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

> There are brief mentions in the first couple of paragraphs of child abuse tied in with homophobia, Katya makes a couple of jokes about her addictions, and there's a joke about nazis. Nothing is too explicit or the focus of this piece.
> 
> Title from Trixie's "Seen My Man." 
> 
> We love lies, don't we, ladies?

There's a burning in Brian's heart. It feels like the orange and blue lick of flame the family gathers around out back when the air turns muggy. They all scoot as close to the fire as possible to avoid the bugs. Brian usually ends up with smoke blowing into his eyes, and he wipes at them to avoid his stepfather seeing weakness.

He asked his mom to switch spots with him once. She was on the other side of the circle, the smoke running in the opposite direction. She would get all the warmth, no itchy mosquito bites, and no puffy, red eyes.

"Be a man," his stepfather said.

Brian understood.

He tried very hard.

At five years old, he knew the consequences of not being man enough. He knew if he squirmed, he'd be called names, poison curling out of a real man's mouth, reminding him just how much he lacked. He knew if he whimpered, the buckle of the belt would mar his skin. If he cried, he'd be hit again, harder.

His mom would run her hand through his hair when she tucked him into bed. "He's just trying to prepare you," she'd whisper, the lump in her throat audible.

"For what?"

"Life."

Life gives him not one, but two marks over his heart. The first is a triangular symbol he doesn't understand, and the second is an unblinking eye.

"It looks like some Illuminati shit," his brother tells him as they lie in the plastic, kiddie pool from Toys R Us. It's old and falling apart.

"Maybe he's using his pull to keep the water inside this thing," Brian says, blinking up at the sun.

"Better hope it's not a he."

It's not malicious. It's just true. As long as they live here. As long as their stepdad is around.

But Brian knows it's a he. His gayness glitters like the sequins on his sister's Halloween skirt. It blinds people blocks away. What he doesn't know is what the two symbols mean. He doesn't know if they're connected, just one symbol masquerading as more. He hopes so.

He asked his mom when they first appeared over his heart.

"I think there are two people out there for you, Bri," she said, chin cradled in her palm. The spiderwebs by her eyes were soft. "You need that extra bit of love."

Brian couldn't tell if it was pity or support.

 

 

His first boyfriend traces over the tattoos. His fingers are smooth and soft, and Brian isn't used to boys with hands like that. He shivers.

"So weird," Matthew says, pressing his thumb over the eye. "Do you think this is me?"

"I dunno." Brian shrugs. "Maybe after pre-med you'll end up an optometrist."

"Over my dead body." Matthew smiles with one side of his mouth.

"Well, what's your mark?"

The relationship is new, and they haven't gotten beyond pulling off each other's shirts and rutting against each other. College is the equivalent of high school for gay kids in Wisconsin. Four years behind, with the hormones of a fifteen-year-old just going through puberty. Brian's tattoos have always been easily visible. To anyone at the community pool, to anyone in the locker room changing for gym. Some people have it worse: tattoos spiraling around their fingers, imprinted onto their wrists, his mother's etched behind her ear. Some people's, like Matthew's, are hidden. Secrets like they're meant to be. Private and personal.

Matthew hesitates, lip pulled between his teeth. Brian's stomach flips.

"A stethoscope."

"Oh."

 

 

The first time he draws Trixie onto his own skin, Brian feels the burning of his marks against his chest. It's like they're being etched in deeper; a laser cutting through more layers of skin and reaching his subcutaneous.

Trixie is beautiful, and beautifully inhuman.

Each time Brian styles a blonde wig, draws on the harsh contour, and wings out the most affordable, blackest eyeliner he can find, he feels her growing stronger inside him. Trixie's all the parts of him his stepdad hated. She's simultaneously a core part of who he is, and someone completely separate. She has the same sense of humor as he does, but she has a different face.

If he's not careful, Brian knows he'll lose himself to her.

On particularly bad days, the concept is tempting. But that's a surface, half-life Brian doesn't want. He needs to be more than a doll dressed in pink and frills. He needs to be more than the man his stepdad feared he was.

 

 

Everything seems to be slotting into place. He makes a decent living cutting hair and teaching blending to girls going to prom. Brian has regular gigs in drag, a home bar, and good friends. He likes crashing on Kim's sofa, eating takeout and watching old episodes of _Futurama_ and whatever anime Kim can't stop slurring about that week. Watching Kim paint has taught him more than cosmetology school ever did. He likes picking Dolly songs to perform, mashing them up with whatever is hot on the radio so his boss will still let him on stage Friday night. His mom left his stepdad and apologized for staying, tears in her voice over the line, breaking completely when Brian told her it wasn't her fault. He loved her then, and he loves her now.

"You taught me how to be strong," she says.

Brian's the one who cries after that.

 

 

Jeff has the prettiest, bluest eyes Brian has ever seen.

He does makeup, too, and it starts over a steaming cup of coffee.

They exchange horror stories about women who expect makeup to change everything about their faces, frowning into the mirror when it doesn't work. Women who think the foundation and blush and eye shadow are too unnatural and heavy. The polite ones who are going to head home and immediately scrub the evidence off until their cheeks are red and raw.

Brian can't help but smile when he sees Jeff, meeting up at the hole-in-the-wall coffee shop two blocks over from the bar, and he doesn't know if he's ever felt this happy before.

His lease is up in two months, and their year-and-a-half anniversary is a month after that.

He leans in, presses a kiss to Jeff's cheek, and doesn't register the loose flutter of Jeff's hand around his waist.

"It's on me," Brian says, pulling his wallet out and flipping through the crumpled ones.

"You paid last time," Jeff says, standing just behind him.

"Come on, I need to get rid of these disease-riddled pieces of paper. People think I'm a whore."

Jeff shrugs, mouth tilting into a frown.

Brian's stomach flops, and he tries his best to smile. Jeff usually laughs at his jokes. Even the easy, unfunny ones. Even the ones he's hearing for the fourth or fifth time because the room contains different people. Jeff's body is stiff, hands shoved into the front pockets of his khakis. "A small chai," he says.

When they sit down, Jeff has a hard time maintaining eye contact.

"What's wrong?" Brian asks. He doesn't believe in ignoring the obvious.

"I got a job."

"What? I didn't even know you were looking."

"It's an upscale salon in Nashville," Jeff says. He looks up, and his cheeks flush.

"That's not how it works." Brian hates the guilt in Jeff's eyes.

He hates that he tried to convince himself the eye on his chest was representative of the crystal blue ones in Jeff's skull. Maybe it is and maybe it isn't, but believing is more than half the battle, and Jeff never believed it at all. If Brian had been born in Tennessee, the state outlined on Jeff's left hip, then Jeff would have. He needed an easy, clear link. There wasn't one.

"You don't know that," Jeff says. "I'm 25, and I don't want to spend most of my life with the wrong person just because it's good. I want great."

Brian rolls his eyes. "You're a fucking dick."

"I applied for the job, and I got it. Don't you think that's the universe telling me something?" Jeff asks.

"No." The chair scrapes against the wood when Brian pushes it back. "Fucking asshole."

 

 

Everyone covers their marks on _Drag Race_.

Showing them would be taboo. They're meant to be private and intimate. Just for you and your soulmate. Even though some people have theirs printed on their thumb, flaunting it on television would be considered disrespectful.

Rupaul doesn't care about that. He simply doesn't want the marks to eat the narrative. He doesn't want one queen pursuing another simply because they have a party hat on their clavicle. He wants the queens focused on the competition, and he wants to have a hand in any of the drama.

It doesn't stop Alaska from calling Sharon her soulmate, and it doesn't stop fans from theorizing about how their marks align. The show might care about hiding them, but everyone who's googled a club performance can see the jack-o-lantern on Sharon's right bicep.

 

 

"Did you ever see Alaska's mark?" Brian asks the poor intern standing with him as he waits to enter the workroom.

"Yes. She doesn't hide it," Phil says. He's young, younger than Brian. At least, he looks it. He fidgets with the the microphone on this headset. "It's on her ass."

Brian laughs. Quietly. He's supposed to be quiet. "What is it?"

Phil shuffles in place and hugs his clipboard to his chest. "It's not my information to disclose."

"I thought she doesn't hide it?"

"We're supposed to be quiet." Phil sighs.

"They're resetting."

"Quiet," Phil scolds, but it doesn't sound strict. He'll need more lessons in assertiveness if he expects to herd a bunch of drag queens around set all day.

Brian nods. He doesn't care that much. He just wants a distraction from the nerves rolling around his stomach. He knows he's talented and funny, but he can't settle the voice in his head overthinking everything: from his paint, to the hat, to the entrance line he's written and rewritten from before he was even cast. No matter what happens next, his life is going to change. Whether it's for the next year or longer than that, he doesn't know. But it's something.

He can't wait.

The waiting just makes his palms sweaty.

"Okay," Phil says. "You're up."

Brian breathes and snaps his newspaper to attention.

 

 

The first person he notices is Max.

Mostly because they went to school together, and because he told Max like three times he wasn't auditioning for _Drag Race_.

Oops.

The second person he notices is Fame, because of the spikes, and because he knows her from social media. She's incredibly beautiful, and Brian is intimidated before he notices the tape. But the tape means humanity, and Brian likes that. Perfection with the faintest trace of something less. Perfection that you root for instead of against.

Some time after that he notices Katya. She's beautiful, soft and womanly.

He dismisses her.

They'll never get along.

 

 

"I'm really good at milking cows," Fame says. "Animal stuff I'm good at."

"Kinky," Brian answers.

"No! Hey!" Fame flushes down to her chest, and Brian only knows because it blooms beyond the layers of makeup on her face. "They can sense my sympathy. Empathy? They know I'm not going to hurt them. That I genuinely care about them. I have a magic touch. Like Midas, except instead of gold, I sit on the stool, crouch down, and Bessy knows to start producing milk."

Brian laughs, setting his black eyeliner with shadow. "You sure you don't have sex with the cows?"

"Ew! Gross." Fame slaps his arm. "You have a messed up mind, Trixie."

"Tell me something I don't know."

Brian likes Fame. She's unintentionally funny, disgustingly beautiful, and another girl from the country aching for her dreams to come true. She's the only other person here who knows what it's like to drink raw milk. There's something about her that makes Brian feel a little more comfortable. He can stop worrying about the competition long enough to roll his eyes at her and feel how bony she is when they hug. He likes the way Fame's eyes light up when she talks about makeup or fashion, even with Violet, who Brian probably hates.

"The longest recorded flight of a chicken is 13 seconds," Fame says.

"What?" Brian blinks.

"That's something you don't know." Fame looks at him, chest puffed out with pride.

"Jesus," Brian mumbles. "You are one of the weirdest people I've ever met."

"A female chicken can eject a rooster's sperm if she deems him inferior," Katya interjects.

"That's true!" Fame grins, wide and bright. She claps her hands together.

"See, I'm the weirdest freak here, Mattel. The only other person in contention for the title is you. Now, if you excuse me, I have to see if--" Her volume increases, she adopts a terrible southern drawl, and her fingers brush against Brian's hip as she scoots behind him, between the mirror and one of the workstations. "If Ginger stole my 301s!"

Brian's hand shakes with a shock of heartburn. He really needs to lay off the coffee while he's here.

 

 

"That is truly the ugliest dress I've ever seen," Brian says.

"Aw, thank you." Katya swats at him, but she's sitting too far away to reach. There's an exaggerated, bashful smile on her face, and any rosy embarrassment in her cheeks is blush. "I felt like _finally_ , you know? A runway that fits my aesthetic."

Brian laughs, a soft and quiet thing. It's not his usual kind of laugh, but anything louder would break the spell of this moment. Ginger and Pearl are smoking outside, and the other queens are still kiking by the sofas. None of them ever get alone time together, and Brian knows this isn't that, either. The cameras are filming for _Untucked_ , and poor intern Phil stands by some curtains that act like walls, hugging a clipboard to his chest and watching Violet like he wants her to eat him up. Disgusting.

"They wanted to throw you a soft ball," Brian says.

"I needed it." Katya tugs on the string falling from her chest.

"I was joking," he clarifies.

"I know." Half of Katya's mouth tugs up into a smile. "But I'm tired. I keep finding myself here thinking like, meth would be good right now. Just for the next week. Give me the boost and focus I need."

There's a beat where Brian tries to keep his eyes from going wide. They don't talk too much, and they certainly don't talk about serious things. Katya doesn't seem to adhere to normal social boundaries, but they're not at a place where Brian feels comfortable discussing drug addiction with her. He tries to think of something comforting to say, or a joke that will diffuse the situation without being completely tacky. He's aware of the camera pointed at him. He doesn't want to come off like a cunt.

"But I chugged your cocktail and realized that all I need to get through this is faith in my pussy." Katya laughs loud. She actually slaps her knee as she watches Brian's face.

He feels the laugh bubble out of him, even as he tries to contain it. "Bitch, I knew it! This watery lime juice went down too smooth."

"It's not the only thing that goes down too smooth."

Brian screams. "You whore!"

Katya nods, giggling around her response: "Literally."

Her smile is wide and infectious. Brian feels his own body flush with it. "At least you have something to fall back on when this all goes to shit. Your back."

"Legs spread wide for every Tom, Dick and Harry," Katya says, gripping the flimsy wooden handles of her chair and sliding down, opening her legs for Brian. The chair wobbles, and her shoes click against the floor as she scrambles to keep her balance.

"Keep yourself safe. Your body is your only selling point."

Katya shrieks, reaching out and grabbing Brian's wrist. Her grip is tight, and it hurts a little, but Brian doesn't want to pull away. His chest pulses with heartburn, but it's vague. He swallows and it's gone, like maybe he imagined it.

"You are the most disgusting, wretched, dark-sided, godless person here," Katya says.

It sounds fond and complimentary.

"Don't sell yourself short," Brian returns, scrunching up his nose.

There's something about Katya that Brian loves. She's the second funniest person here, quick and wacky. And she's the only person here who seems to understand Trixie's humor. He can't count how many quips he's made in the workroom, to everyone and to no one, that were met with her laugh and everyone else's silence. The judges don't get it, and Fame has asked him if he's feeling depressed three times, but Katya's clicked in to his frequency. She knows what Trixie's about, and it's a relief. The pearl of what he's trying to do with her is there. If Katya can see it, he just needs to open up the clam and make everyone else see it, too.

 

 

Getting sent home twice blows.

Brian doesn't understand it either time.

It's not until he's back home in Wisconsin, eating his second individual pizza of the day, that he finds Katya's phone number tucked into one of the stupid pockets of his suitcase.

 

 

"You should have stayed," Katya says. "I should have raised my hand from the back of that stage and said I was exhausted and done and keeping me one more week was a waste of everyone's time. Hello Kitty is your thing, Trixie!"

Brian scoffs. "Hello Kitty is not my thing. That's offensive to me, and to Barbie, and to women everywhere who aren't trustful of creepy half-cat-half-girls."

"I'm sorry, you're right. Admiring a doll with unrealistic and impossible body proportions is much better."

"Boob jobs are better than plastic surgery to give yourself whiskers and a tail."

"Is that really a thing?" Katya asks. "Because I definitely have to look into it."

"It's your dest-kitty."

Katya howls over the phone, and it's one of Brian's favorite sounds in the world. Or something less lame.

"It would be a catastrophic meowstake for you not to carve your ears into triangles, Cat-ya."

"Oh my god," she huffs. "I'm crying."

"Would you like me to pawse?"

"Stop!" she laughs. "I was trying to have a serious conversation."

"Liar," Brian says.

"It's a coping mechanism, Linda."

"Lying or trying to physically turn yourself into a cat?" Katya seems to choke on something as she laughs, the high pitched wheeze turning into a cough. "Hairball?"

"Stop!" Katya manages before the sound being ripped from her throat settles, a tinkling, melodic laugh fading out. "You're incredible, you know that?"

"Duh." Brian picks at the imaginary lint on his T-shirt.

Most people aren't good at taking compliments, but Brian's usually better than most -- at many things. The fake arrogance with which he plays it off is better than awkward toe shuffling and refusing to accept the praise. But there's something quiet and wistful about Katya's tone that makes him want to curl into himself. It's warm and nice, too. He tugs at the collar of his shirt, fingers brushing over his heart.

"Do you ever wonder why we didn't connect while filming?" she asks.

"Apart from your crippling anxiety and my intense need to not be funny at all?"

"Yeah, obviously. I mean, we went through this extremely traumatic and life-altering experience together. Met god herself! And yet it almost feels like we missed out on the opportunity to," Katya pauses, sighs, "do it together?"

"I wouldn't want to do it with you, anyway," Brian says.

Katya does him the favor of laughing.

 

 

They're sharing a hotel room in Los Angeles, and Brian thinks it should be weird, but it's not. They grew closer over the phone than they ever were in person, but Katya's energy is friendly and uninhibited. Any boundaries they broke down at 3 in the morning discussing the worst sex of their lives, arguing about whether Violet would let Katya fuck her or not, and whether she should (Katya: yes, Brian: "She might be a cunt, but she doesn't deserve herpes. Unless she wins."), detailing Katya's mental breakdowns -- the one she had in college, the one she had on set, and the one she had at Ginger's house in Florida -- remain toppled.

"What do you think about soulmates?" Katya asks before flopping onto Brian's bed. She pillows her hands under her head, legs barely spread.

"I don't want to fuck you." 

"I want to fuck you." Katya waggles her eyebrows.

"You want to fuck everyone."

"Not true! I don't want to fuck ..." She hums and worries her bottom lip between her teeth.

"You can't even think of a single person," Brian laughs.

"I think I'd even fuck Michelle," she says, low and resigned.

"Disgusting."

"I am." Katya's grin stretches out, her lips thinning and teeth appearing sharp. "But at least I'm not avoiding a question that society uses to analyze all persons and relationships."

Brian sighs. "I think they probably exist."

Katya clucks. "Interesting."

"What? You don't?" he asks.

Brian watches the way she pulls herself up to the headboard, the muscles in her biceps making themselves known. She crosses one leg over the other and her arms over her chest. Katya is beautiful. She's pale and thin, and Brian really isn't attracted to her. Mostly. He's a gay man, so that particular shallowness hasn't eluded him, and personality still counts. And Katya's personality makes Brian think that if someone perfectly suited to him exists, they'll have Katya's personality. He'd like it on someone else's body, but still. It's a grey, muddled area. And Katya's personality is beautiful.

Katya is beautiful.

"No, I do," she clarifies. "But I think people go about it all wrong. Two people can be happily married for years, like my parents, convinced they're soulmates because of their marks, but the universe didn't intend that at all. We don't know shit. It doesn't mean they're not in love, or that they're not soulmates. But you can't prove it either way, so why does it matter? My dad could die tomorrow, right? And then a week later my mom meets her actual soulmate, and she never would have given him a chance if my dad were alive."

"That's morbid," Brian scoffs. "That's awful."

"That's the truth."

He nods. "You're right."

"Are you one of those nutjobs looking for yours?" Katya asks.

"Yeah, I guess." Brian shrugs, flopping down onto the end of the bed, voice muffling into the sheets. "But not in a crazy way. One of my exes had the shape of Tennessee, yeah? And he broke up with me to move there."

"That's stupid," Katya says, disbelief coloring her words. "That tattoo could mean they meet there, or his soulmate was born there, or he sees his soulmate in a Tennessee Williams play, or that one night you spill Tennessee whiskey all over your bedroom, but now he'll never know."

"No, it's definitely not me. I might deserve a shitty soulmate, but no."

"Anyone who wouldn't want you to be their soulmate is dumb as a bag of rocks."

"Thanks." Brian rolls his eyes and rolls onto his side.

"So, what's your mark? I can be on the lookout for you. Traveling the country, asking everyone I meet if they also have a worrying obsession with the color pink, or if they've ever had a meltdown because it snowed and their takeout was 30 minutes later than expected."

"You're a dick," Brian says.

Katya laughs under her breath. "Yeah, yeah, yeah, let's move on to things we don't already know."

Brian scratches at his chest.

He's shown his marks to complete strangers, to any queen who happened to be at the clubs in Milwaukee and Chicago, and to each and every boyfriend he's ever had. But the tilt of Katya's chin and the intrigue and softness in her eyes gives Brian pause.

He exhales.

He's never overthought it before, so there's no point in overthinking it now. Showing Katya the pair of tattoos over his heart isn't going to change anything. Not fundamentally.

He sits up, and as he starts pulling his shirt over his head, Katya whistles.

Her eyes glide over his chest, obviously ogling, but then she stops. She looks at the marks, crawling forward. She doesn't touch. Brian feels warm all over, the marks begin to itch and his heart races.

"It's weird, I get it," he bristles, breaking the silence and clutching the cotton of his shirt between his hands.

"That's Alaska's symbol," Katya says, voice low and cracking.

"What?" Brian asks, shoving his shirt back over his head.

"That triangle. That's Alaska." There's jealousy there. Dark and unmistakable. "I don't know which freak the eye is, though."

"Shut up." Brian pushes at Katya's shoulder. He needs her to be farther away right now. "Maybe I'll steal her boyfriend, or my soulmate only came out to the club to see her and surprise! Me."

"Maybe," Katya says.

It doesn't sound like she believes it.

 

 

Alaska is intimidating, regal and reserved. There's an air of coldness around her, but it's not like Violet, because her smile is soft and warm when she catches Brian glancing at her backstage.

Brian smiles back, nods, and looks away. He shakes his head, embarrassed, but his face doesn't burn with it. He focuses on gluing his eyelashes on, and almost forgets that Katya thinks Alaska is his soulmate.

He's usually good at pushing it to the back of his mind, because it doesn't feel possible. He doesn't love Alaska the way Katya does, but he respects her. Alaska lost _Drag Race_ , and she didn't let it stop her. She stood back up and let the world know she wasn't America's next drag superstar, but she wasn't _not_ America's next drag superstar, either. She's a force to be reckoned with, and Brian doesn't know if he wants to try.

Besides, pursuing someone because you think they might be your soulmate, based on a stupid mark on your chest, seems like something Jeff might do.

"Hey," Alaska says.

Brian jumps, and the corner of his eyelash flops down.

"Oh, sorry," Alaska apologizes. Her voice is soft, barely there over the music the local queens are playing.

"It's fine." Brian finishes placing his eyelash with care, holding it steady for a few extra seconds before letting go.

"I didn't want you to think I was ignoring you or something."

"I didn't." He blinks at her, pleased when the lash holds.

"Oh, right." She shakes her head. She's painted, dressed in all black, but her wig isn't on yet. "That's conceited of me."

"If you're not full of yourself, can you really call yourself a drag queen?"

"If you're not assuming other queens in the dressing room are obsessed with you, then you're not doing drag!" Alaska smiles, lopsided and sweet.

"What you don't know is, I'm immediately going to text all the Milwaukee and Chicago girls and complain about what a cunt you are," Brian deadpans.

Alaska laughs, still quiet, as though she doesn't want to disturb everyone around them. Brian feels it warm in his chest, the air around her thawing. He doesn't know if the slight awkwardness comes from her shyness -- all the season seven queens talked about it after the crowning. A gossipy Facebook chat that probably wasn't too becoming of any of them -- or Brian's own mental block. Because she's standing in front of him, and he's looking up at her, her eyes contact-free, and he keeps thinking she could be his soulmate. He wonders if the eye over his heart represents her wide, kind ones.

Brian has little faith in the universe, in soulmates being fair or good, but for a stupid moment, he thinks maybe the eye was a backup plan, in case Alaska didn't become Alaska. Maybe the two marks are just for her, and the universe wanted to make sure Brian got his person. He dismisses it almost as quickly as he thinks it, because the universe doesn't care more about him than everybody else. If the universe did, his mom's soulmate wouldn't have been an abusive asshole who made Brian's childhood miserable, a man she had to work up the strength to leave because soulmate marks hold more weight than they should.

"As long as you let them know I have CUNT, talk all the shit you want," she says. "And I'll text all the Ru girls about your BO."

Brian mock gasps and lifts his arm to sniff the pit. "That's you, hun."

Alaska holds out her hand. "How dare you insult Chanel Number 5."

Brian wraps his fingers around her dainty wrist, leans down and presses a kiss to the back of her hand. His heart stutters in his chest, burns, and then settles. He leaves a perfect, pink print on her skin. A tattoo of his own making. "Coco was a nazi."

Alaska's eyes widen, her hand grips Brian's, nails digging into his bones, and she laughs. It's a dorky, loud sound. "Touché Mattel," Alaska wheezes. "Fuck."

"I can't believe I have to tell everyone you're not just self-absorbed, but also a nazi. I knew that blonde hair was ominous."

"You're the one with blonde hair and blue eyes."

"Guess we're both assholes, then."

Alaska's still holding his hand.

 

 

"When I ignore your calls for a few days, it's not that I relapsed. I mean, I did, but not with any illegal substances. With the need to embarrass myself on national television to try and prove I'm a superstar or something. But I should get back to you within the week, because, come on, who could I beat on All Stars? Porkchop?" Katya scoffs. "Unlikely. Porkchop is a living icon."

"You're going to do great," Brian says, pressing the phone closer to his ear.

"Please lower your expectations."

"Have your hoards of fans taught you nothing?" Brian curls his legs underneath himself on the sofa. He squints into the sun streaming through the window. "I'm the president of your fanclub, and I'm willing to let you remove the part of my brain that loves you and squeeze it into your own skull for this."

Katya hums. "But you have to take it back, after. My narcissism is bad enough as it is."

"No, I refuse to add your mental illnesses to my own. I'm sure my love for you will grow back."

"Like flowers in the spring."

"Exactly," Brian says. "And if you can't love yourself," he continues in his Rupaul impression, "how the hell are you gonna love somebody else?"

"I love you," Katya says.

"Love you, too, whore."

He does. He loves Katya more than everyone but his mom and siblings. And Dolly Parton. But she doesn't count.

"Do you need any help gathering materials?" he asks, already pushing off the sofa and heading toward his drag closet.

"Yes! Hold on, let me grab the list. Oh my god, Trixie, I have the cutest latex outfit you'll ever see. I swear to god if we don't use it, I'll have a full on Laganja meltdown! This was my moment!" The nerves in her voice have made way for excitement. "Listen, I love you, Trix, but please don't send me a video message. I'd rather hear from my mom or dad, because crying about them is bearable and not completely weird."

"I thought you weren't going to last long enough to get a video message?"

"The latex runway will be first, and this outfit is going to make me safe as fuck."

"If you don't draw a beard onto your face, I'll block you on all social media," Brian says, flipping through all the pink dresses he has. "Is there a _Pretty in Pink_ runway? Because I can totally hook you up for that."

Katya hums, probably scanning the list the show gave her. "No. But do you have any 90s fair?"

"Maybe." Brian pulls out a puffy, pale, pink taffeta skirt he hasn't worn in a few years. Katya wouldn't have to do much to make it fit her. "Hey, send me a picture of the outfit list, I'll scan through my stuff and get back to you."

"You're the best," Katya says.

She keeps doing that: complimenting Brian sincerely. It's her latest kick. She wants him to know how important he is to her, as though the text messages that come in right before dawn about which Bond girl each of them would be doesn't already say as much. It makes Brian nervous, like Katya knows something he doesn't yet.

"I know," he responds, voice adopting a slightly higher pitch. "I'm a doll."

Katya's answering laugh still makes him beam with pride, and Brian hopes that never goes away.

 

 

Brian misses Katya more than he thought he would while she's filming.

It's not that they've never gone a long time without talking. When Katya's struggling more than usual, or when their schedules are hectic and incompatible, they've gone over a month without saying anything meaningful to each other. They've gone weeks without speaking for longer than five minutes. But the knowledge that he can't talk to her, even if he wants to, makes it worse.

But almost the second she's free, she texts him a string of horny, thirsty emojis, and Brian feels lighter.

It's the first time he thinks maybe the Alaska tattoo is just Katya. A fucked up joke about Katya's favorite Ru girl printed on his body when Katya is Brian's favorite Ru girl.

It's not even a competition.

 

 

The coffee Katya made him is exactly the way he likes it: too much sugar and a splash of soy milk. He's trying to cut out sugar, but Katya doesn't know that, and it just makes this cup taste better than all the bitter coffee he's forced down over the past few weeks.

"What do you want to know?" Katya asks, a sly twist to her mouth.

Brian rolls his eyes. "Don't be annoying."

"I made top three," she says like it's nothing, dusting off her shoulder.

"Oh my god." Brian's eyes widen. "See! I knew you could do it. Can't believe my best friend is going to be America's next drag superstar! I deserve half of that money for lending you that purple slip."

"I never used it and it was useless."

"What about that pink gown?"

"First of all, it was off-white, and it literally would have looked better on any of the other girls there than it did on me," Katya says.

Brian hums. "I doubt that, but anything you wore would have looked better on Roxxxy."

"Except Roxxxy had something better for every runway!" Katya sets her mug down and some coffee splashes over the edge, dripping down the side. She doesn't notice. "Like everything I brought was worse than her backup. Like it would be her third or fourth tier."

"Was she top three, too?" Brian asks.

Katya leans across the table, whispering conspiratorially, "No. She sucked."

"No!"

"Yes! She's an absolute sweetheart, has a flawless mug, perfect fashion sense, can lip sync the house down boots, but comedy? Girl, it was painful. It was like ... we didn't have to sew at all? If we had to sew and look beautiful, she would have stolen the show, but force her to act? It's a mess."

"Shit." Brian shakes his head.

"Alaska won," Katya says, plain and simple. There's no malice there, but there's no brightness, either.

"How do you know?" Brian asks. His heart constricts in his chest, and he doesn't know if he's happy for Alaska, sad for Katya, or some combination of both.

Katya shrugs. "She slayed the competition. It'll be a miracle if they crown Detox or me. Like, she was undeniable."

Brian nods and wraps his hands around his mug. "How was she?"

It's a scary question, because they haven't talked about her since Katya pointed out that the mark on his chest is her symbol. Brian was so rattled by the idea, by Katya's reaction, and the way both of those things twisted in his head, he forgot to ask Katya about her own soulmate mark. Tit for tat. But he can't broach the subject now. They've carried on like nothing happened, like it doesn't mean anything. And it doesn't, not really.

Except, when Brian looks up from his coffee to Katya, it feels like it means a lot more than it should.

"Um, cold?"

"She's reserved," Brian says. "Shy. We all know that."

"No." Katya shakes her head and chews on her bottom lip. "It felt like she didn't like me, but she didn't know me, and she wouldn't really give me a chance. She was standoffish. Not outwardly rude, but it felt ... rude."

"I'm sure she didn't mean it."

Katya raises an eyebrow. "You weren't there."

"I know." Brian sighs. "Violet was a cunt, and you liked her just fine. Hell, even now I can admit you were right about her."

"If I was right about her, maybe I'm right about Alaska. A few minutes with her at a gig or backstage won't give you the same impression as being around her constantly for two months."

"I know." Brian holds his hands up in surrender.

"What?" Katya asks, narrowing her eyes. "What is it?"

Brian swallows.

"We hooked up."

Katya's mouth parts, just barely, with a sharp inhale.

She doesn't look angry, judgmental, or even sad. Surprised, maybe, or resigned.

Brian looks down. He tells Katya everything, but he didn't tell her this. He knows why, and he's sure she knows why, too. But it still feels like he betrayed her by keeping it to himself. "It didn't mean anything. It was just. She doesn't know, and I don't even know. I just wanted to see."

Katya looks at him. Her eyes aren't wet, but they seem like they could be. "It's fine."

It's a lie.

Obviously.

Brian lets her have it.


	2. two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Katya traipses off to the Christmas Queens tour._
> 
> _With Alaska._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Same warning for mentions of drug use/addiction from chapter one apply, and there's brief talk of food in relation to weight loss and body image. A few mentions of death and looking forward to it, but no one dies, and it's not suicide idealization. Katya also says the d-slur. Other than that, enjoy!

Katya has no right to be upset. They aren't dating, and she's the one who listed off Alaska's merits on all her fingers and toes one night. Brian was buzzed and rolling his eyes at her from the opposite end of the couch.

To her credit, Katya does her best to pretend not to be.

But her texts focus more on work than they normally do, and there's a layer of tension between them until they're on set and in drag. Then, it's like nothing happened at all. Because Brian is Trixie, and instead of being the other Brian, Katya is purely Katya, and it's okay for them to be normal with each other again. Drag has always been an escape, and it has always allowed Brian to present himself better, more authentically even, depending on the day and his mood. But now it feels like a cowardly thing to cling to.

'What are we doing today?" Brian asks, smoothing out his skirt.

"Soulmates," the producer answers.

"Come again?" Katya asks as she enters the room. Her dress looks like she cut the tassels off drapes and glued them all over gingham napkins. Her wig is frizzy, and her lips are a darker red than usual. It's very Dorothy gone wrong. Brian hates it as much as he loves it.

"Oh, so you want to be the clown today?"

"Don't judge me, Bozo." She does a spin and the dress twirls around her, revealing hairy legs and boxer briefs. "I'm a biological woman." She sits down, knees open, but the dress is long enough. "What's the topic here? I'm thinking weather. Or studying tips. Or hygiene. I have a lot of wisdom to impart today."

"Soulmates."

"What?" Kayta's eyes go wide and her back stiffens. "Isn't that like, against the rules?"

Their producer raises an eyebrow. "Have you seen the show?"

"Right. Right, right, right." She claps her hands together. "Let's do this."

Brian turns to the camera, the red light staring at him, judging and cold. He smiles. "Hi! I'm the younger, prettier version of you that had sex with your husband on his desk, Trixie Mattel!"

"And I'm the worm you ate in first grade and is wiggling around your intestines because it never came back out, Katya!"

"And welcome to--"

"UNhhh," they moan in unison.

"The show where we talk about whatever we want," Brian continues.

"Because it's our show," Katya says.

"And not yours." A beat. "Today we're talking about soulmates."

"You gotta know when to hold 'em, and you gotta know when to fold 'em."

"What kind of poker are we playing?" Brian asks.

"Seven card stud!"

"Seven card stud, honey? That's one less than I had last weekend, hoooooney." He shimmies his shoulders, the glitter on his pink blazer sparkling under the lights.

Katya laughs, one hand curling around her knee as her body leans forward with it. The chair creaks under her, and she whacks her fan repeatedly in Brian's direction, but she doesn't hit him. "No, no, no, but hear me out. Soulmates are like a game of poker. If you go all in on someone, you can either win big, or you lose everything and--"

"--and you freeze outside on Christmas like the _Little Match Girl_."

"Yes! Shivering! Depressing! Frostbite around your heart!"

"But, if it works out, it's the best relationship of your life," Brian says.

"The opposite of the _Little Match Girl_. The candles and the feast she dreams about, except it's real."

"Eating good."

"Eating ass!" Katya hollers, voice dropping an octave and stretching the word out like a sports announcer excited about a score.

Brian shrieks in delight. "In the challenge, fate laid a hand, but your runway look lacked soul. You are safe."

"That's how it is for most people." Katya nods and pushes her knees together, the fabric of her dress dipping between them, trapped.

"You think?"

"I do. There's no way to confirm if you've found the right person, and most people probably just delude themselves into thinking they have. Which is fine!" She turns back toward the camera. "Kids, just because someone doesn't have your initials burned into their skin, it doesn't mean they aren't worthy of love." She whips her head back toward Brian, ponytail hitting herself in the mouth and getting stuck to her lipstick.

Brian shakes his head, but reaches out to help pull the strands away.

Katya blows air out and up, her bangs fluttering. And then: "That's why you won't date me."

"I won't date you because you tricked me into showing you my mark, but you never showed me yours."

It's neither a funny statement nor the truth. It's an obvious grab. Brian wants to know. Brian has wanted to know what stupid symbol is sketched onto Katya's skin since he showed Katya his own. It feels like it'll confirm that they're not right for each other, not by the universe's standards, anyway. And if they know it's wrong, then Katya can't be hurt that Alaska had Brian's dick in her mouth before she did.

"What is this, fifth grade?" Katya asks. "Tit for tat?"

"No tits, Linda."

Katya squeezes her breasts between her hands and moans.

"But, really," Brian whispers, reaching out and tapping against the knobby bone in her wrist.

Katya sighs, pulls her hand back and rubs at the bone with her thumb. "Okay. Later."

 

 

Katya has two marks, too.

They're on the inside of her wrists, and she tells Brian she conceals them with makeup. She has been covering them with makeup ever since she was little and her mom did it for her.

There's the outline of a crown on her right wrist, and the outline of a star on her left.

"You couldn't have had more distinctive ones?" Brian asks, hand tracing over the star. Katya's skin is dry and cold beneath his finger, and his lungs seem to go cold in response, the chill spreading throughout his chest.

"Guess not."

 

 

Alaska was funny and smart. Her wit different from Brian's, but their sensibilities were the same, and he liked that. He liked their backstage banter, and he liked never knowing where her joke would land. The surprise of her humor reminded him of sparring with Katya, even though Alaska's sense of logic flowed more naturally, and the comedic beats were more traditional. With each punchline, Brian felt the laughter roar out of him before he could stop it.

It wasn't until they were de-dragging at the end of the night that he even entertained the thought, and only because Alaska asked first: "Are you hungry?"

Brian tilted his head, cotton ball coming apart between his fingers. "I could eat."

"Okay." Alaska smiled small.

Sliding into the vinyl booth of an all-night diner -- a rip in the back of the fabric, yellow padding peeking through -- at two in the morning doesn't constitute dinner, but Brian's flight had been delayed, and he missed the chance for a proper one.

"Would it be insane to order coffee?" he asks, scanning the menu and zeroing in on his options.

"Absolutely," Alaska says. "But that's a good kind of insanity."

"What's the bad kind?"

Brian looks up. Alaska's eyes are warmer now, whether it's a trick of the fluorescent lights, the glass of Maker's Mark she sipped on between wiggling out of her pads and pulling bobby pins out of her hair, or Brian himself, he doesn't know. If he's honest, and it's late enough in the night for him to be truthful with himself, he hopes it's the latter.

"Snorting a line of cocaine, or jumping off a cliff," she says, humming. "Or being best friends with Katya."

"Oh my god," Brian deadpans, forcing his expression wide. "I knew she was trying to kill me."

"We're all dying anyway." Alaska waves her hand around. "But maybe you should spring for decaf."

He doesn't.

But he does eat a few carrots out of Alaska's salad before smothering his waffle in butter and maple syrup. He tells Alaska that as long as he eats a vegetable, it's all about balance. "We're all going to end up in the ground, so you have to enjoy food that goes straight to your potbelly sometimes. Make life worth it."

"I'm kind of excited to die," Alaska says.

Brian arches an eyebrow.

"Not like, in a depressed way. But I think it'll be cool to be finished, you know? I mean, I don't want to die now." She laughs a self-deprecating, small sound. "I sound crazy like you! I just mean my grandma was at such peace when she left this world. She wasn't scared, and she was proud of the life she lived. The idea of being ready for it, of having accomplished something? I like that."

"Please, tell me you think you've accomplished nothing," Brian says.

Alaska laughs. "I do have to win _Drag Race_ before I kick the bucket."

"Now I know why you lost season five! It wasn't your time to be murdered."

"If you use the term murdered loosely..."

"Jinkx really did kill you all," Brian agrees. "But hey, at least you can understand the math of it. I still don't understand how I lost. Either time!"

Alaska rests her chin against her fist, and Brian can see the tiredness in her eyes. The bags she's so good at concealing become plain without the makeup. "I don't, either."

Brian shrugs. "Oh well. Violet deserved it, at least."

"Yeah, until you learn to make your waist disappear altogether, and then what will she have on you?"

"Good fashion sense," Brian says.

Alaska cackles, throwing her head back and bringing her palm up to cover her mouth. "Well, I like your pink sacks."

"Oh, you haven't seen my pink sacks yet," Brian answers before he can think better of it.

She doesn't miss a beat: "The night's still young."

Alaska's face remains neutral except for the arch of one eyebrow. Brian's stomach flips, and he swallows.

 

 

Katya traipses off to the Christmas Queens tour.

With Alaska.

It makes Brian grind his teeth and check his phone every hour expecting an update about how Katya "accidentally" pulled Alaska's wig off her head, or maybe she just stole the makeup station Alaska wanted. Alaska's stubborn enough to be upset by that. Brian doesn't think Katya's petty enough to actually do it, but still. He worries.

He worries about Alaska, and he worries about Katya, and he doesn't consider the other option: a text at three AM. His cell vibrates on the nightstand, and his sleep is light enough that he reaches for it: _You were right about Alaska_.

He blinks against the phone's brightness. Anxiety clenches in his stomach. He counts the ellipses.

Katya sends: _Don't let it go to your head!_

And then: _She was cold!_

Brian squints. His chest itches, and he rubs at it. Stupid shirt. _I'm always right_.

His mouth tilts up with Katya's _Go to sleep_ , and he drops the phone on the mattress next to him.

This is good, but the momentary relief turns into a churning stomach and deep, focused breathing in order to fall back asleep.

 

 

"Hello, Miss Tracy," Katya says. Her smile is blindingly white.

"Hello, Miss Tracy," Alaska repeats, looking at Katya, fond amusement in her tone. Her hair is askew, and she's wearing one of her own T-shirts. Brian doesn't miss Katya wearing Alaska's merch, too.

"My favorite Ru girl." He pauses to let Katya preen before adding, "And Katya!"

Alaska laughs a warm, surprised sound. It stretches like taffy.

She and Brian didn't make an effort to keep in touch. They already had each other's phone numbers, and Alaska sauntered out of his hotel room, boots unlaced, hair mussed almost like it looks right now. It wasn't awkward, and it was nice, but it didn't feel cataclysmic. It didn't magically make them close, and Brian still doesn't know what to do. He doesn't know if he's supposed to say that he thinks she might be his soulmate. Hell, he doesn't know if she'll care. After the disaster with Sharon, he doesn't know if she still puts stock into the marks on her ass. He doesn't know if she thinks she had it wrong, or if she still believes the marks were for Sharon and it just didn't work out.

That happens. Probably more often than anybody realizes.

But her eyes are dazzling when she makes contact through Katya's phone, and they seem softer than ever when she looks back at Katya.

Brian misses her, and he misses Katya. They're huddled close, flying out to the UK together tomorrow, and he feels very far away, more than the 2000 plus miles.

"You bitch," Katya gasps, but it's affectionate. "Now I have to find someone else to give the My-Friend-Went-To-New-York-And-All-I-Got-Was-This-Stupid-T-Shirt shirt to. I'm going to wear it to bed, so it'll be imbued with my scent."

Brian wrinkles his nose. "Disgusting."

"You'll love it." Katya wiggles her eyebrows. "What's happening where it's warm and balmy?"

"The Earth opened up and California is drifting into the ocean. The Usual. Apartment hunting, styling wigs, writing." Brian shrugs.

"Writing?" Alaska asks.

"Trixie is a songstress," Katya says.

"Really?" Alaska's eyes widen, and Katya rests her chin on Alaska's shoulder.

"Not really," Brian answers.

"Please, she's being modest. I don't even like music, but Trixie's a genius and has single-handedly saved my soul with her country jams," Katya says.

Brian rolls his eyes. "You haven't heard anything I've written."

"So? I know I'm right."

"I'm sure they're great," Alaska offers, quiet and wispy. "I would love to hear them when you're done."

"Okay."

She clears her throat. "Now, I'm going to make sure Jinkx and Detox haven't stolen my weed, but I'm sure I'll see you later."

"Yeah," Brian agrees. "I'll see you later."

It sounds weird, too warm and comfortable for what it is, although he knows it's true. Drag is a small business, and being a Ru girl is even smaller. It might be a year, but they'll run into each other somewhere. It's not scary or thrilling; it's just the truth.

Katya smacks Alaska's ass as she exits the screen, and Trixie hears the laugh in her whine. "Don't go anywhere without me!" Katya calls, but Brian can't make out Alaska's response.

Katya turns back to Brian, her goofy grin giving way to a content, contemplative sigh. "What's really up?"

"I put in an offer on a place I cannot believe I can afford. Remember being broke?"

"I am still spiritually broke."

"The morally corrupt Katya Zamolodchikova," Brian says.

"Namaste, slut pig." Katya's head droops in a bow.

"I miss your stupidity. I hope nobody else is hitting you upside the head."

"That's your job." Katya's mouth twists up. "I miss you, too."

"So, it seems like you and Alaska are really getting along?" Brian clucks his tongue, eyebrow raised.

Katya groans. "You were right."

Brian sits up straight and smiles smug. "I told you so."

"I know! It was just like ... It was like meeting your idol, except your idol and you are both in the thunderdome and have to murder each other, and yet you still expect them to kiki with you and encourage you every day."

"So the bar was really low and she failed to meet it," Brian says.

"Exactly!" Katya laughs. "In a way, it reminded me of you and me during season seven. I mean, she was colder and I came out of the experience not liking her at all, whereas I wanted to phone you immediately, but. It was like we couldn't be close then? I wanted to be friends--" Katya's smile stretches. "But if she had acted like you and Fame, cuddling in the workroom and explicit dyke vibes, it would have felt wrong, too."

Brian rolls his eyes. "You're just jealous the prettiest girl there liked me and not you."

"I'm telling Violet you said that. Hell, I'm telling _Fame_ you said that."

"Oh no! What will I do when she sicks her chickens on me for being rude? I'll be clucked."

Katya wheezes, her laugh more air than sound. "You're still the funniest person I know."

"I know." Brian pretends to flips his hair over his shoulder. "But your taste does leave a little to be desired."

"Now who's jealous? My sense of humor is the best thing about me."

"Debatable," Brian says, no sarcasm masking his fondness and affection. Katya's answering head tilt, accompanied by the soft curve of her lips, like they're sharing a secret, is too much. Brian breaks eye contact first.

"So," Katya begins. "The real question: how much will you hate me if I call you after we land?"

"I will get on a plane and fly to England specifically to murder you."

"Death doesn't scare me," Katya says.

She doesn't call, but she does send a message saying they arrived safely and that Sharon snores.

 

 

Brandon's an orthodontist, which is not as impressive as being an actual doctor or lawyer, but Brian still knows it would thrill his mom. She'd like Brandon more than she likes him.

Brandon laughs politely at all of the jokes he lobs across the table. His laugh is quiet and quick, fading away almost before it starts, and Brian doesn't think it sounds fake -- he's heard enough false laughter while flirting with men at bars to know, and he's listened to enough dead air at a club to understand the different ways he can bomb a punchline -- but it's not exciting, either.

It doesn't feel like they're connecting.

"My teeth are pretty bad," he offers before pulling his lips back over them, exposing the straight line of a fake smile. 

"They look all right from here," Brandon says, leaning across the table.

"Well, obviously I wouldn't show them to you if they were rotted from meth." He takes a sip of his white wine. It makes him feel fancy, fabulous, and a little bit out of place. But Brandon said yes to a bottle for the table.

Brandon blinks.

"Kidding," Brian says. And while Brandon nods, his own smile waning, Brian adds: "My friend Katya did meth and her teeth are better than mine."

Brandon's eyes go wide. "Oh, I--"

"Do you recommend meth for me, or?"

He coughs. "No. I would uh, not recommend meth for anyone's teeth."

"But what if they had too many of them? The meth would target the weaklings. You could yank those suckers out and keep the strong. Survival of the fittest."

It's bad. This is a date, not an episode of _UNhhh_. It's not an interview that's going to get less than 10 thousands views from white teenage girls on Youtube. Brian's making an awful impression. He's acting like a crazy person, saying nothing genuine, and not even bothering to make normal small talk. Saying "So, the weather has been wild, huh?" would be better than whatever it is he's doing.

"Sorry," he apologizes. "I use humor as a defense mechanism."

"That's good. Better than you being a meth addict."

Brian smiles and rubs at his forehead. "Yeah, maybe."

"So, enough about teeth. What do you do for a living?" Brandon asks.

Brian usually skirts the truth here. Telling a date he's a drag queen doesn't have the same stigma it once did, but it definitely isn't something he advertises. He figures that might attract the wrong type of person. It's a vain thing, too: he's been on _Drag Race_ now. It's possible someone will stay with him for the potential fabulous lifestyle. Maybe not likely, but possible. He's slept with a couple of race chasers, or, at least he's tried. Limp dick isn't a thing that only affects Katya. Clearly.

"I'm a drag queen," he says, deciding he's made an awful enough impression as it is, and that if by some miracle he has to come clean later, it'll look even worse than usual.

Brandon blinks, and his face remains neutral. "Oh, that's cool!"

No over-excitement, and no disdain. It's the best response Brian can get, and yet it's not the one he wants.

"I actually ran in to Alaska the other day in Santee Alley, and I knew she was a cheap bitch, but I didn't know she still resorted to trawling through the crowds and garbage like the rest of us."

It's a lie. Brian did visit Santee Alley, because he'd never been and Katya said it was fun (she lied, and her cackle over the phone when Brian informed her he went still rings in his ears), but Alaska hadn't been there. He doesn't think Alaska's even in town.

"Who?" Brandon asks.

"Another queen. Sorry." Brian shakes his head and can't help his frown.

Stupid.

 

 

Katya looks around the small apartment, humming in approval. The door to the second bedroom creaks when she pushes it further open. It's the drag room, scattered with the last few boxes Brian has been too lazy to unpack. "It's nice! I like the half-empty boxes." She leans over, peering into one, and smirks. "Excellent decor. Reminds me of home, but I didn't realize a wok and spatula were part of your drag persona."

"Oh, shut up!" Brian crosses his arms over his chest, but his voice sounds light and airy, almost like if he had a normal laugh. "I had to move them out of view in case Grindr came through."

"Did it?" Katya asks. She tilts her head, a smile flirting around the corners of her mouth.

"God, no." Brian sighs. "I moved here, and now I'm the ugly one."

"True. You were like, a 15 in Wisconsin."

"I was a 20! I was the most handsome person in the entire state besides like, the football players. But they were losers with brain damage, so I was winning that game."

Katya squints. "It's your loss that you said that and not me, because you'd definitely make a joke about my brain being damaged."

"Shit. Let's try that again. Role reversal."

"Role reversal, huh?" Katya looks Brian up and down, licking her lips.

"Stop that." Brian howls, batting at her shoulder.

"This place is great. Really. But I think it's missing a framed picture of me above your bed. I'll even blow up an 8 by 10 and sign it for you!: To Tracy Martel, the most talented loser I know, and one of my favorite people in this godless world. I hope you eat a dick."

"Literally."

"Literally." Kayta agrees, nodding solemnly.

"Please pray that every night. God might not love me, but he certainly loves you enough to invite you back on All Stars."

Katya smiles, looking around the cluttered room. "I should move out here."

"And then I won't be the ugliest person in California."

Katya hums. "If I stayed in drag all the time, you would be."

"And then you wouldn't have to crash on my couch to film."

"You think I'm sleeping on your couch? Oh no, Barbra, you have a king, so I'm going to snuggle up right next to you and rub my feet all up and down your legs."

Brian grimaces and groans. "I will actually murder you if I wake up to your morning wood pressed into my ass."

"Trixie, I haven't gotten hard in over a week."

"Like your flaccid dick is any better."

"You wish you could have this limp noodle." Katya runs her hands over her body and moans, exaggerated and high.

"That's disgusting," Brian says, but he laughs.

He thinks about it, too, when Katya does crawl into bed with him, blinking like the heroine of a romcom and stabbing Brian's shin with her toes before he flips the lights off. She doesn't try to cuddle, and she keeps a safe distance. She falls asleep first, and Brian looks at her, the way the wrinkles leave her face and her chest rises and falls evenly. She's handsome, and he loves her.

He knows that, and so does she, but he thinks it might be different than he thought. He might want to do something gross, like see if he can actually get Katya hard.

He chews on the inside of his cheek until it hurts, turns away from her and toward the wall. He tries to fall asleep, but the more he tries the harder it gets. He's restless, but he can't toss and turn for fear of waking Katya up. His mind keeps running in circles. He and Katya both have two marks. Alaska was one of Katya's favorite queens before the All Stars disaster, and she's one of her favorites still, post All Stars disaster. Katya keeps talking about her third eye.

And Katya hasn't hit on Brian in any real way in months, but Brian doesn't know if he'd still reject her if she did.

 

 

Seeing Alaska again, Brian is reminded of how magnetic she is. It's her quiet, commanding presence mixed with the comedy that is uniquely hers. The audience is easy for her, laughing at every exaggerated facial expression and elongated word. Brian is, too. There's something irresistible about her. Charisma, uniqueness, nerve and talent, or maybe it's the way her eyes warm up, even under the contacts, when she spots him at the side of the stage. She winks, but doesn't draw attention to him.

When he finds her backstage she says: "You tipped me a one as if I don't know you're rich."

Brian screams his laugh. "As if you're not richer than me."

"I'm not." Alaska scrunches up her eyebrows. "I lost and blew through all of Sharon's money."

"I lost even worse than you. I lost twice."

She rolls her eyes. "Technicalities."

Alaska pulls him into a light hug. Brian's hands rest loose around her, careful of the hair underneath his hands. She's warm and padded, and she shouldn't smell good, but she does.

"The show was great," he says when they part.

"Thank you." She smiles a soft, almost shy thing. "Thanks for coming."

Brian swallows around the joke on his tongue. "I had nothing better to do, and I figured instead of eating myself into a stupor and gaining back the weight I lost, I should get out and donate to charity."

"Your waist really deserved to be thrown this bone."

"Yeah, but my ass could use one, too."

"Me too, girl, me too," Alaska laughs, bright and rolling.

Brian's toes curl inside his shoes. He feels the same sort of joy swelling in his stomach that he does when Katya surprises him with a thoughtful text, or a joke timed just right. Ridiculous and absurd. He doesn't know Alaska that well, but he wants to. He wants to know her the same way he knows Katya. He can predict what Katya is going to respond with to his stupid gym snaps, and it makes him laugh when he's right. He loves when she responds to one of his awful puns with something other than joy, curving right instead of left. The mixture of predictability and surprise is simultaneously comforting and thrilling.

Katya is annoying as hell sometimes, too, and he wants to get to the point where he feels like rolling his eyes at Alaska and leaving her on read for a few hours. Brian wants that same all-encompassing familiarity and full spectrum of emotions with both of them.

It scares him how much he already likes Alaska. The easy way he ignores it, and the hard hit whenever he's in her presence. But it doesn't strike the fear of god in him like the idea of hitting on Katya does. Brian feels like if he waits too long, becomes friends with Alaska first, it will scare him equally as much.

Despite what his mom tells him, he's not that brave.

"I can't help you there, but I can probably figure something else out, if you want."

It feels weird, and not just because Alaska's still in drag.

"I don't think Katya would mind, but I'd probably have to check with her first," she answers.

"Oh." Brian blinks. "Katya and I aren't..."

The soft tilt to Alaska's mouth turns down. "I know, but Katya and I..."

Her eyebrows scrunch together, and Brian can see her brain working the same way his does when he's trying to calculate the tip at a restaurant without a calculator in order to prove to his family that his brain hasn't turned to mush.

Shit.

"You and Katya," he hears himself say.

"I'm sorry. I kind of thought that was why you--" Alaska shakes her head. "I figured she would have told you by now."

Brian feels the heat in his cheeks. His stomach somersaults. "Me too."

"I'm going to de-drag, but if you want we can get drinks or something after?"

"Thanks." He forces himself to smile. "But I think I'm going to head home. I just wanted to say the show was great."

Alaska's smile is kind, but embarrassed.

Brian's sure she can see the flush on his skin.

 

 

Brian manages to get home before calling Katya.

He gets her voicemail.

"Are you fucking insane? You're dating Alaska, and you didn't think to tell me? God, you're so fucking annoying. You hated her, and now you're dating her? I don't even know what I'm trying to fucking say, but I just wanted to fucking swear at you, you piece of shit ass."

He exhales, hitting his head against the wall.

"Listen. You're my best friend. You should have told me. I don't give a shit what the symbol on my chest is supposed to mean. You're my best friend, and you're right if you thought I would mock you forever for this, but." He sighs, can feel the tears prick warm in the corners of his eyes. "You're supposed to tell me these things before I try to hit on your boyfriend and make a fool of myself, you know what I mean? Call me back, asshole. I want to cuss you out in person. Or on the phone. Whatever."

He hangs up.

"Goddamn fucking shit."

 

 

Katya calls back a few days later when he's onstage, and Brian knows it's on purpose. They send a few sparse texts and decide to meet for lunch at a cute vegetarian place when Katya's in LA for filming and a few gigs. Brian doesn't ask if she booked a hotel, because he's afraid she's staying with Alaska instead of him.

"Hey," Katya says, sliding out her chair and sitting across from Brian. "This place is quaint."

"Like a small town in New England that seems cute until you realize they're all bigots."

"Exactly!" Katya smiles, and Brian watches her pull back, making it smaller.

There's a pause when they look at each other, and when Katya swallows, her Adam's apple bobs in her throat. She clears it, and then reaches for a menu, yanking it open with too much force, her elbow hitting the edge of the table. "Ouch, shit," she huffs.

"Wait until you see the food."

Katya chuckles.

It's genuine, but toned down. Brian knows if she felt comfortable, it'd been closer to a wheeze.

They're quiet until they order, making small talk about their last few performances. Brian had to use a bathroom in a club that had mold growing everywhere, and Katya has a gift for Brian a fan gave her in Ohio. The conversation flows just fine, but Brian can feel Katya's leg shaking underneath the table, and he keeps wiping his own hands on his jeans.

"How's Alaska?" he asks after the first bite of squash.

"Good." Katya's mouth stretches, but it's not pretty.

"When did that happen?" His tone is steady and flat.

"Probably during the Christmas tour, but we didn't make it official until March."

"And you didn't think it was important to tell me anything besides you liked Alaska and realized she wasn't actually the devil incarnate?"

"First of all, she might be the devil incarnate. I haven't tried to douse myself in holy water since we started dating."

"Maybe she douches with it."

Katya's eyes go wide, she chokes on her drink, and she laughs her first real laugh since she sat down, banging her hand against her chest and sputtering. "Jesus, I hope not."

Brian shrugs. "Yeah, your dick would probably burn off."

"Probably." Katya nods, pressing her lips in to a thin line. "I didn't want to tell you because I thought it would ruin it somehow."

"How?"

Katya shrugs. "I don't know. Either you wouldn't be happy for me like I would want, or you would be, and that would suck, too."

Brian looks at her: eyes bright and blue, dark circles baggy underneath them, lips chapped and shoulders curled in, almost protective. She looks sad, but Brian remembers how she had looked wearing Alaska's merch, grinning at her and then at himself. He remembers the song in her voice when she retold a joke Alaska had made at Jinkx's expense, and the delight in her eyes when Alaska could be heard laughing across the room.

"Well, then I don't know how you want me to react."

Katya's laugh is wet and sad. "Neither do I. It'd be easier if I did."

"It was shitty of you not to tell me."

"I'm sorry," she says. "I know."

"You owe me hundreds of dollars worth of therapy for the absolute fool I made out of myself in front of her."

Katya wipes at her eyes and grins. "I think I have that Miss Congeniality money tucked away somewhere."

"You're lying to me again," Brian deadpans.

Katya's mouth twists into a frown, eyes downcast and fingers tapping against the table.

It's annoying that she's the one who fucked up, and yet Brian feels bad about it. He hates that an easy solution hasn't plopped into their laps to erase the last few weeks, and he doesn't want to feel awful for being in the right. He'd rather give her a pass than watch her cry about something that's her own fault, especially when she knows it. "You apologized, so I forgive you. How about we forget this ever happened and discuss the shape of Alaska's dick instead?"

Katya almost laughs. The sound wispy, hoarse and closer to a sigh. When Brian catches her eye, her mouth is too thin and her shoulders are hitched too high.

It feels like they ruined something really good.

Something great.

He wishes he knew what it was, or how to explain why all of this feels wrong.

Just like with Katya, he lets it slide.


	3. three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Brian feels like there's some joke he isn't privy to, but he smiles anyway, letting Katya force them into a final group hug. It makes him feel like the inside joke between Alaska and Katya did: a little bit left out, but with nowhere else he'd rather be. A weird amalgamation of observer and participant. He'd rather feel slightly off-kilter with Katya and Alaska than steady with anyone else._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's one scene where Brian/Trixie refers to Alaska and Katya as Justin and Brian, respectively. It retains the use of feminine pronouns for them, though, which will hopefully make it a little bit easier to parse and a little bit less confusing (especially with two Brians). 
> 
> Same warning for mentions of drug use/addiction apply, and now there's a joke about incest.

Katya looks at home in Alaska's apartment, sprawled on the sofa, one leg crooked over the arm, her neck bent against the back. It seems uncomfortable, but she grins and waves at Brian as he walks into the room.

"Hey! You made it."

"Barely. The 101 was like trying to shove a dick into an ass without lube."

Katya grimaces, and Alaska chuckles from the detour she took to the kitchen. "That's disgusting, and it sounds painful."

"Which one?" Brian asks, sitting on an armchair. The floral print makes it look as though Alaska inherited it from her grandmother, but the cushion is soft yet firm, almost new.

"Both! I never need a dick up my ass again."

"That's fine by me," Alaska says, offering Brian a glass of water before cracking open a Red Bull. "Fucking someone is too much work."

"What's the term Detox told me?" Katya says, twisting her wrist in the air, grabbing as though she's trying to catch the word. "Oh! Pillow Princess. That's what you are, except like. You're a man and you give really good head."

"So, not a pillow princess at all," Alaska says, smacking the back of Katya's thigh.

"The truth hurts, doesn't it, Princess?" Katya laughs at her own joke, and Alaska huffs before taking a sip of Red Bull.

Brian doesn't understand the specifics involved in the term pillow princess, but he doesn't want to ask and get another lecture from Katya about women in the LGBT community and not letting his ignorance turn him into an accidental misogynist. His mom is his favorite person in the world, he would do all those stupid things Bruno Mars sings about in that song about explosives for his sister, and he'll google it later if he remembers. All the knowledge and none of Katya's disappointment. Nevermind that Detox had to tell her about Alaska being, or not being, a pillow princess.

"I'm sorry he's being insufferable today," Alaska says.

"I'm sorry she's insufferable every day, and that you're the one who has to deal with her now," Brian answers, a smirk shaping up around his mouth. "Actually, I'm not sorry at all. It's a pretty good deal for me."

"Why do I like him again?" Alaska scrunches her nose up, and Brian thinks about how cute it is before he can stop himself.

"Beats me."

"Hey!" Katya says, finally sitting up. "I'm right here."

Brian blinks. "We know."

"I'm great! I'm pretty and kind of funny and very charming."

"Yeah, I guess." Brian swipes at some condensation on his glass with his thumb, watching the easy way Katya grabs the Red Bull from Alaska, taking a sip before handing it back. "Thirteen-year-old girls seem to like you."

"More than they like you," Katya confirms.

"Oh no! What will I do?" Brian rolls his eyes, but there's no malice behind it.

"Make less money than me. And the next time we negotiate with anyone, it's none of this 'we're a team' nonsense. We go in as individuals and see whose Twitter followers get them a higher paycheck. You win or you die."

"Stop saying that," Brian says. "Someone is going to see my text messages and think I'm being threatened."

Katya and Alaska both laugh, shifting together so their shoulders brush, and Brian bites back a smile.

"All he ever texts me are dick pics," Alaska says with a shrug.

"I'd rather have that than a string of emojis I'm supposed to understand. She's not Carrie Fisher."

"I wish!" Katya splays her hand over her heart. "Alaska won't even roleplay Jabba the Hutt."

Brian screams his laugh, and Alaska drops her head into her hands, but he can see she's smiling even as her face flushes, her knee now poking against Kayta's.

"I tried to compromise and let her be Luke, but apparently she's not into incest."

"You're out of options," Brian says, deadpan. "Guess you'll have to return the little bikini you bought."

Katya gasps. "Never. I'd sooner dump this broad and hire a hooker who will let me live out my fantasy."

Alaska pouts, bottom lip pushing out further than should be possible. She hooks a hand around Katya's elbow and looks at her. "You don't mean that."

Katya holds for a few seconds before leaning in, a quick peck to Alaska's mouth. Brian feels like he's missing a conversation, and he wonders if this is what the people at WOW feel like when they're trying to film an episode of _UNhhh_. Except this makes his chest feel warm and his toes tingle in his shoes, and he imagines the producers feel annoyance and frustration whenever he and Katya get off topic or their transitions are only logical to the two of them -- granted Brian managed to follow Katya's train of thought in the first place. He presses his mouth in to a thin line and can't bring himself to look away.

"No," Katya says, soft and genuine. A beat: "I mean it."

Alaska laughs, that asthmatic chuckle that Brian already loves too much, and the sound is contagious, catching until all three of them are laughing.

Brian didn't expect this to feel so natural. When he got stuck in traffic, he considered calling and cancelling.

He's glad he didn't.

He likes making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with Katya, cutting the crusts off his and Alaska's and letting Katya eat them. He likes the little frustrated groans Alaska lets out as she sets up the TV. He likes the Golden Girls coasters she has, and the way her face lights up when she explains they're a gift from a fan, even if she can't remember who gave them to her, their gender, the city or the year. And he likes the way Katya wedges herself between him and Alaska on the sofa, all of them barely touching as they watch, cozy and warm and nice.

 

 

Katya's looking at her phone as she enters the basement to film, an eye glued to the center of her forehead.

Brian's throat dries, and he clutches at the flimsy material of his skirt.

When Katya looks up, she smiles, but it falters when she processes Brian's expression. "What? Is there lipstick on my chin again?"

"No," he manages, scratchy and low. "No, you look good."

"Thank you." Her grin widens, brighter than it was before, and she pulls out her skirt to curtsy. "I am the most beautiful woman in the world, and I'm glad you've finally noticed. Everyone else has."

He swallows, wipes his palms, and tries to stop his brain from short-circuiting. Or maybe his brain is simply working when it wasn't before. "I never said any of that."

"Potato, potah-toe," she hums, sliding onto her stool. "I didn't like, stop your heart, did I? You look kind of ... pale."

"Under all this?" Brian points at his face and the layers of makeup caked onto his skin.

She laughs, a tiny and tight thing. Her brows are furrowed, and she leans in, placing her hand on his head. "You don't feel warm."

"I'm okay." He blinks, bats her hand away, and shakes out his shoulders. "I'm just going to get some water and then I'll be ready."

"That's how I got lipstick on my chin!"

He shoots her a thumbs up, and she reciprocates, but her body looks tense, her expression all concern.

Brian doesn't understand how he didn't figure it out before. Not when Katya sat in his hotel room, gluing googly eyes onto a cheap piece of fabric she would tie around her wrist as a bracelet later that night, not when she was reading _1984_ at the airport, sketching unblinking eyes into the margins, and not when she spent almost an hour trying to explain the third eye to him.

Katya is his soulmate.

Fuck.

 

 

He knocks and waits, but he doesn't hear any shuffling. He knocks again, and then he gets a message from Katya: _I'm running late! Be there soon_.

Brian sighs, typing out a quick response before shoving his phone back into his pocket. He thinks about sitting in his car. It's winter in LA, so it's not an unbearable heat chamber, but just as he steps off the small porch, the door swings open. "Oh, I thought you meant--" He cuts himself off, seeing Alaska. "Hi."

"Hi." She forces a smile, but it's impossible for her to hide the wetness in her red eyes. She looks like she splashed water on her face to make it seem like she hasn't been crying. It clearly didn't work. "Sorry, Brian went to pick up a dress or something."

Brian nods. "The usual traffic."

"He'll be back soon. Come in." She holds the door open further, retreating backward.

Brian clears his throat. He knows if almost anyone showed up at his place and he'd been crying, he'd want them to pretend they couldn't tell. But when he settles into his armchair, he sees the DVR paused on the end of the All Stars episode, and he sees Alaska's phone, Instagram open, teetering near the edge of the coffee table.

"Do you want something to drink?" Alaska asks, leaning against the archway, left toes dancing against her right ankle. Her lips are too thin for someone with filler, and her eyes are too wide. Her tone aims for flippant and kind, but she misses the mark.

"I'm okay." He gestures toward the television. "The episode was good, huh?"

Alaska grimaces, and she seems to collapse into the wall. "Sure was entertaining."

"That's the kind of drama we need," Brian says. "None of this kumbaya bullshit. That's boring."

"Yeah." Alaska chews on her bottom lip.

"You can like, leave. If you want. I have a phone to pretend to scroll through while I wait for Katya. If you don't want to talk about it. Or at all."

Alaska nods, shuffling toward the sofa. "Sorry. I just. I knew it was coming, and the reception hasn't been as nice as season five for a few weeks, anyway. But. It's hard when everyone is telling you that you're an awful person, pasting snake emojis all over the place and telling you to die."

"Shit," Brian exhales. "That's bad."

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault," Alaska says, running a hand through her hair.

Brian bounces his knees, eyeing the space between them and the sofa. "Yeah, but I'm still sorry. I'm not a monster." A beat. "Not like you."

A sudden snort of laughter rips from Alaska's throat. She covers her mouth, her eyes welling with fresh tears. "Shit. I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry about," Brian says, using the arms of the chair to push himself up. He settles next to Alaska, arm wrapping around her shoulder, squeezing and rubbing small circles. "Not even that tantrum. You're a drag queen, for god's sake, if you're not having a meltdown at least once a week, you need to quit. We're meant to be divas."

"I know." She sniffles and wipes under her eyes. "I know that. It just feels like everyone hates me, and I know it doesn't matter. All the people online who hate me don't even know me. But it's hard when everyone is actively rooting for you to fail."

"Not everyone. I'm sure there are like," he pauses to hum and taps his fingers deliberately against Alaska's shoulder as though he's counting, "five loyal Alaska fans fighting everyone on Twitter. And only two of them are Katya's old incognito accounts."

Alaska laughs, a softer, kinder one than her first. Her hand finds Brian's knee. "What about you?"

"Oh, I only use to Twitter to trick the youth in to thinking I'm relatable."

"No." She slaps Brian's knee the way he's seen her tap Katya, and his heart burns with it. "Do you hate me?"

"Hate you?" Brian's eyes widen, and he shakes his head. "No, of course not."

He feels a lot of stupid feelings for Alaska, but hate isn't one of them, and it never has been.

She looks him in the eye. Hers are red and puffy, but they're clear. They narrow a little, searching, and Brian drops his hand from her shoulder, feels her gaze prick goosebumps all over his body. "Good. I don't hate you, either."

"Glad we cleared that up."

Alaska smiles. "I'm going to go wash my face again and get some water. Brian should be back soon. He's probably having his own diva moment. Fashionably late."

"There's nothing fashionable about her."

This time Alaska laughs that loud, uninhabited, embarrassing thing that Brian fell in love with the first time he caused it.

 

 

Brian crowns Alaska the night the finale airs, and it's magical.

Everybody in the crowd is excited to witness her reaction and to be with the winner tonight. She's a real, flesh and blood person in front of them instead of a villain on their televisions. Brian knows there are a lot of people who are pissed off, and they certainly outnumber the people who are happy for Alaska tonight, but it doesn't matter right now. Not with a crown on her head as she performs, captivating and radiant.

She earned this: the title, the sparkle on her head, and the joy.

By the end of the night they're both drunk, and Brian's de-dragged except for the faint stain of red on his upper lip that mirrors the way his usual pink always takes at least 24 hours to completely fade. Alaska's in her underwear and a T-shirt that hangs loose on her bony frame.

"Do you want to pool?" she asks, peeling off one of her eyelashes and placing it carefully in the little box she pulled it out of.

"Yeah, just hurry your ass up."

She shakes her butt and winks, her laugh bubbling over. Brian laughs, too, always easy for it when there's too much champagne in his system.

It takes Alaska twice as long as it should to finish cleaning up and pack her belongings, clumsier than usual and chatting with the promoter as they finish clearing the club. Brian taps his foot without fuss, leaning back in his chair, texting Katya and waiting for the dick pic Willam will send of the trade he left with. Brian's eyes droop with the pulsing soreness of exhaustion he's gotten used to.

"I'm ready," Alaska says, one bag slung over her shoulder, reaching out with her free hand, the other around the handle of her large, wheeled suitcase.

She helps Brian up, offers to carry his makeup case, and he lets her. He follows her to the side of the building where they wait for the Uber, watching her hips sway as though she's still padded and wearing heels instead of Converse.

The night is dark and chilly. Brian shifts his weight to help keep warm, arm brushing against Alaska's flannel. "Congratulations," he says.

"Condragulations," she corrects, smile splitting her face.

He rolls his eyes. "Sucks that Katya's not around tonight."

"It's okay." She shrugs. "We already celebrated."

"Do tell." He waggles his eyebrows. Vodka soda still swims in his veins, and a nice fuzziness frizzes in his head. He'd never ask for details from Alaska otherwise. Propriety, or at least the illusion of it, too important to him.

Alaska smirks. "Girl really loves to eat ass."

"I've heard."

"She's really good at it," Alaska drawls, the words elongated, even for her. "I was sore for days after, too. The combination of his happiness for me and ... I don't know if it was jealousy or disappointment or anger or what, but it was great."

He whistles as their Uber pulls up to the curb. "Sounds like it."

"But I'm glad you're here tonight." She looks at Brian, eyes blown but sincere as she reaches for his hand, holding it between both of hers. "I'm glad I got to share this with you, too."

Her words catch in the back of Brian's throat, and he suddenly feels too sober for this. "Me too."

They clamber into the back of the car, the ride quiet except for the lull of soft rock the driver plays. Alaska leans her head against Brian's shoulder. She smells like perfume and alcohol and sweat. Brian closes his eyes and inhales, his hands clenched into fists in his lap.

 

 

Brian watches the videos Katya and Alaska post from Aspen: Katya on the red phone, singing "Purse First" and voguing down an empty hallway, filming each other as they get into the car. They're both laughing and smiling, their joy infectious through the screen, making Brian laugh and smile too. His chest feels warm, and he tucks up on the sofa, rewatching their stories an embarrassing number of times.

It's nice.

He misses them.

It causes an aching feeling in his chest that makes his breath shallow, prompting him to close his eyes and focus on an inhale and the answering exhale. It doesn't make him sad, though. Brian finds missing them is nice, too.

 

 

The smell of buttery popcorn mixes with the low lights and the ugly, patterned carpet. Brian blinks as his eyes adjust, pulling his wallet out of his back pocket. He squints up at the board behind the register. The lights are digital and red, but one of them is broken, the top of the T gone

"Three for the 4:15 please," Katya says.

"What?" Brian asks.

"I got it." Katya smiles. "I'm dating a rich superstar."

Alaska snorts, but her lips twitch with a smile. "You really got a dime."

"I don't do drugs anymore."

"A perfect ten," Alaska clarifies, an edge of annoyance, but mostly exasperated fondness.

"A real robbery." Katya reaches out, squeezing Alaska's wrist, her grin stretching with the contact. Her smile is large and white and blinding. It's the kind of smile that would read fake on anyone else, but Katya's eyes are just as bright. Brian thinks she has the happiest smile in the world.

As Katya hands the poor cashier her card, Brian leans into Alaska, stage-whispering, "If you need help suing, my brother's a lawyer."

"I don't think I can afford him anymore," Alaska laughs.

"I'll set you up with the family discount," Brian says.

"Thanks," Katya says to the employee before turning to them. "Your brother loves me and would never sue me. He'd defend me. Pro-bono."

"That's probably true," Brian admits, shrugging. "Katya bought everyone presents when she went back home with me last year, claiming they were Christmas gifts four months late."

"Or early or late birthday gifts, depending on which was closer," Katya clarifies.

Alaska's face softens, head tilting as she looks at Katya. "You're the best."

Brian nods. "Unfortunately, she really is."

Katya twirls her hands, a little gay flourish that causes Alaska to laugh and Brian to roll his eyes. "Finally! The respect I deserve."

Alaska insists on paying for refreshments, and when Brian tries to protest, Katya smacks his arm. "Let him, he's loaded. And if you don't, I'll have to hear him whining all the way home about why you hate him and wouldn't let him treat you to bland popcorn and that thing you keep calling pop but is actually soda."

When Alaska goes to the bathroom an hour into the film, followed two minutes later by Katya, a hand on Brian's knee she uses to leverage herself up, Brian half-expects them to come back with sex hair. But only a minute goes by before Alaska's back, leaning over to whisper in Brian's ear and ask what she missed. "The less attractive sad man cried in the shower. He doesn't have any muscles, so you're good."

They go out for beer when the movie's over, and Katya orders a water with a huge bowl of lemons on the side. "What'd you think?" she asks.

"It was okay," Alaska says, mouth a flat, slanted line.

"About 30 minutes too long," Brian groans. "By the second misunderstanding, I was ready to walk out of the theater."

"God, I know. If you'd just talk to each other, you'd know that attractive lady at the opera is just the sister of more attractive sad man." Katya shakes her head before taking a sip of water.

"I know we don't communicate as well as lesbians," Alaska starts. "But they were acting like straight people."

Katya wheezes, and Trixie screams. "It was not the kind of tragedy I wanted to watch."

"One day, they'll be more quality gay movies we can waste $50 on," Katya says.

"Hopefully soon. Especially since you refuse to see those Marvel things with me." Alaska takes a pull of her beer before reaching across the small table and fiddling with one of Katya's lemon slices.

Brian arches a brow. "You like those?"

"There's too much testosterone most of the time, but the nerdy comic book kid in me needs to see how badly they're gonna mess up my heroes."

"He's lying." Katya rests an elbow on the table, leaning forward. "He ranted for ten minutes about how much he loved the green Guardian of the Galaxy a few weeks ago. He loves that boring shit."

"Gamora," Alaska corrects. "And a broken clock is still right twice a day."

"I think I would suffer through someone as handsome as Chris Evans in a tight suit for you," Brian says.

Alaska flutters her eyelashes. "The sign of a true gentleman."

"Perfect!" Katya claps her hands together once. "Works out for everybody."

"I reserve the right to change my mind depending on how hot the men are and how tightly their uniforms fit, though."

"Oh, of course," Alaska says, taking a sip of Katya's water before setting it down between them. "That's why Paul Rudd was Ant Man, so you'd agree to come over and watch a movie with a shit name like _Ant Man_."

"If you think I haven't seen _Ant Man_ already, you're deluded."

Alaska shakes her head, her smile apologetic. "I'm sorry I ever doubted you."

Katya takes a few large gulps of water before grabbing the lemon slice Alaska has been turning between her fingers, squeezing it into the half-empty glass. "Yeah, I had to hear about it for a week straight."

"Shut up. You sent me a stupid _Contact_ meme two weeks ago."

" _Contact_ is art, Mawma!"

Brian watches as Alaska and Katya squeeze so much lemon into the glass it's almost three-quarters full of liquid again. Katya tries it, grimaces, and drops the last lemon husk she's holding in, some water splashing out and onto the table.

Alaska wipes it away with her napkin. "Do you think they sell dessert here?"

"No," Brian and Katya answer.

"Didn't you eat half the tub of popcorn?" Brian asks.

"I have a fast metabolism."

"I hate you both, I really do."

Katya kicks him underneath the table, but then strokes his shin. "You love us both."

Brian holds up a hand. "I plead the fifth."

"Let's stop for something on the way home," Alaska says. She takes a small sip of the water, seemingly swirling it around her mouth before swallowing. "I want something sweet."

"Nothing chocolate or fruity," Katya says.

Alaska hums. "Deal, but I get to pick out what we get if I follow those guidelines."

Katya holds out her hand. "Deal. And Trixie's our witness, so if we come home with a strawberry ice cream cake, I get to Snap her and she'll know how much of a liar you really are."

Alaska rolls her eyes, but she shakes on it. "Fine."

They only agree to let Brian pay if he lets them tip, and he even though they only bought two beers, Alaska sets a five on the table.

The light in the parking lot flickers, broken, as they stand by Brian's car. Alaska tugs him into a hug, hands squeezing around his shoulders and pulling him closer. She's warm, the scent of her aftershave lingering through the popcorn and lemon.

Katya hugs him after, chin poking sharply into his shoulder and fingers dancing along his spine. "We'll have to do this again the next time we're all in the same place."

"I'll pencil you in for next year," Brian jokes.

Katya pretends to look at a watch on her wrist. "May 16th?"

"I already have plans then," Alaska answers. "I'm seeing my other lover."

Katya's hand still lingers by Brian's waist, and she pulls Alaska into her other side by the elbow. "Trixie and I would love to fuck him, too."

"Sister wives!" Alaska screeches, and Kayta laughs. Brian feels like there's some joke he isn't privy to, but he smiles anyway, letting Katya force them into a final group hug. It makes him feel like the inside joke between Alaska and Katya did: a little bit left out, but with nowhere else he'd rather be. A weird amalgamation of observer and participant. He'd rather feel slightly off-kilter with Katya and Alaska than steady with anyone else.

 

 

Katya Snaps him a picture an hour later, arms crossed over her chest, face twisted and sour, mouth turned down into a pout. She stands in front of what looks to be two pineapple upside-down cupcakes. The text across it reads: the 2nd one is for you! xo Justin.

 

 

His mom tells him all about the cases his brother's been winning, along with the accompanying promotion and salary increase. Her voice is proud, the equivalent of a puffed out chest, and Brian can remember a time when it would have felt like an unspoken comment on his own inability to excel in ways she understands. She would never walk into work and shove her phone in a coworker's face, demanding they watch a joke Brian told on _UNHhhh_ , and not just because she doesn't know how to get internet on her cell. But Brian doesn't mind anymore. He knows his mom loves him. She does her best, and she shows it by laughing heartily at all the puns he tells her over the phone and always asking if he's drinking enough water on the road.

"He met this lovely girl, Brian. She has long blonde hair and an MBA," his mom says, her voice dropping into an excited whisper. "I think she might be the one."

"Oh."

"Don't get your undies in a twist," she scolds. "It's exciting! Your brother is really happy. And speaking of romance..."

"Mom," Brian groans.

"What! I want all of my children to be happy."

Brian scrubs his hand over his face. "I don't know. It's complicated."

She hums, and he can picture the disappointed shake of her head. "This isn't Facebook, I'm your mother."

"Exactly." He loves her so much. It's kind of annoying.

"What about Katya?" she asks.

They've had this conversation before, sitting at the small kitchen table, a book shoved under one leg to make it stable. Brian had stared at the stain his sister made from spilling water and forgetting to wipe it up in a timely matter. His mom nudged his shoulder, smile tight and eyes prying. Any time Brian comes home without a boyfriend, his mom asks, always circling back around to Katya. "His one fault is that he has the same name as you," she had said. "It's a good name, though. For a good man. A good husband. Brian squared."

"I don't know," he sighs now, unable to lie to her.

"Oh, that's different."

"Yeah. He's dating Alaska."

"Who?" his mom asks.

"Alaska. She won the season of All Stars Katya did. They're like," he pauses, trying to button the bottom of his flannel over his T-shirt. "They're really good together? Katya's sent me a video of Alaska snoring three days in a row. It's this wheezy thing she does when she has a cold, I guess? And god, they make fun of each other more than any boyfriend has ever let me rib them, but it's always so... affectionate. If you can't make fun of your boyfriend, who can you make fun of, you know? I mean, besides everyone."

His mother chuckles. "Sense of humor is very important."

"It is." He swallows. "And Alaska bought Katya's favorite shampoo without telling her. Katya just showed up at her place one day and it was there, with her name scrawled across it in permanent marker, as though Alaska has some awful, imaginary roommate who eats other people's food if it isn't labelled. Katya's moving in with her soon, already has a key and everything. I'm going to be out of town that weekend, though." Brian shrugs. "They're good. Really happy."

"Oh, sweetheart," his mom whispers.

"What?"

"I can't tell which one you love more."

He blinks. His hand shakes, third button up, and he can't get it through the hole. "Come again?"

"It's okay. You have a lot of love in your heart, and from what I can tell, Katya does, too."

Brian exhales. He feels the tears welling behind his eyes. "She does."

"Bring Alaska by next time, too. I'd love to meet her."

He closes his eyes, presses his palm against one until his vision kaleidoscopes. "What are you talking about?"

"It's gonna work out. Moms know these things."

 

 

Katya throws a small bundle of bananas into the shopping cart, and Brian winces. There will be brown splotches all over them now.

"I'm not kidding, he had a meltdown because he couldn't find that stupid roll of black tape he puts under his eyes like he's some sort of football player instead of a scrawny, gay, drag queen," Katya huffs. Her voice goes high: "Brian, did you steal it? I know you think it's ugly, but have you seen literally everything you wear? Black is timeless! Wait!" She halts, throwing her hands out to the side, the cart rolling a few inches before stopping, too. "Did you steal it to use? Am I going to go into your closet and find a stupid dress covered in stripes of my tape?"

"Oh my god," Brian mutters.

"I know. Unbelievable. And you know where he found it?"

"In your sock drawer where you were hiding it?"

Katya's mouth twitches, but she fights the smile back. "No, but he riffled through all my shit. It had rolled under his vanity."

Brian laughs.

"He was almost late to the airport, and he left me to clean up. But guess what, Mimi? I didn't!"

"Wow, maybe she'll divorce you."

"I could only be so lucky. Unfortunately, we're bound for life. Two lesbians in love." Katya sighs, grabbing the cart again and turning it down the first aisle.

Brian presses his mouth into a thin line and shoves his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. "Lesbian love, huh?"

Katya shakes her head, glancing at him as she scans the shelf of canned soup. "Yeah, I mean. We're soulmates, so obviously."

"Soulmates?" he chokes out. The word breaks in his mouth, so obvious. There's a metallic taste like the time he was little, fell and bit his tongue on the way down. He blinks. His lungs constrict and air feels too heavy.

It's an overreaction.

He knows they're good together. He knows they love each other. He doesn't have any delusion about either of them leaving the other for him. Besides the fact that it would be completely fucked up, he doesn't want that. He doesn't want to lose either of them, and he doesn't want them to lose each other. The idea is almost as awful as Katya casually throwing out that they're soulmates.

"Trixie," Katya begins, grabbing a can of Campbell's chicken noodle soup and putting it next to the container of caramel dipping sauce she's getting without any apples to dip. She has no taste, and if Brian wasn't finding it hard to breathe, he'd let her know. "When I got back from Europe, she had organized my drag by era and whether she would ever wear it, and she's always the one who cleans the bathroom even though I have to unclog the drain. She actually likes letting me shave her ass. Plus, my red lipstick mark is on said ass."

"What?"

"It's one of her marks." Katya shrugs.

"How do you know it's you?"

"I don't!" Katya laughs a high, bright, and hoarse thing. "Does it matter?"

Brian shrugs. "I guess not. Soulmates are just. Stupid, I guess."

Katya looks at him sideways, her eyebrows drawing in. Her hand tightens around the shopping cart. "Wait, I thought you really believed in all this bullshit? Wanted to find your one true love or whatever?"

He runs a hand through his hair, looking at the boxes of ramen noodles instead of Katya. "I did. I do." She touches his arm, and he makes eye contact. "I'm tired, and the universe doesn't give a shit, or else my mom's soulmate wouldn't have been an abusive asshole. She feels guilty that it took her so long to leave, because if he was her soulmate, shouldn't it have been perfect? So like. My soulmate's probably an asshole, too. It's genetic."

Katya snorts. "Your soulmate is definitely an asshole."

He rolls his eyes. "Thank you so much."

Katya smiles, sympathetic and small. "You're right. The universe doesn't care. That sucks for your mom. Assholes should get saddled with assholes, not nice Wisconsin women with good hair. But your soulmates are going to be so..." Katya trails off, her smile somehow softening and her hand circling around his wrist, warm and wonderful. His chest feels it, too. "You're going to get the kind of soulmates you deserve."

"Thanks." A beat. He pulls his arm out of her grip. "Let's stop having a moment in the grocery store. It's tacky."

Katya hip bumps him, the crows feet around her eyes smiling. "The lighting is all wrong for it. Besides, if I don't buy those disgusting vegan burgers for Justin, I'm in for another tantrum."

"Those are actually really good," Brian says.

"You are both disgusting, and it should be illegal to call them burgers." She shoves the cart forward and has to jog to catch it before it crashes into the shelving.

Brian laughs under his breath.

He really loves her.

 

 

Alaska's a terrible dancer, but then again, so is Katya.

The awkward, disjointed way they move together fits. There's something beautiful about it. Maybe it's how comfortable they look. They both know they can't dance, but they don't care, and neither of them have had any alcohol to loosen them up. Maybe it's because they're in love, and Brian knows that. They've shared it with him, constantly and consistently. It hurts sometimes, but he thinks it would hurt more if they didn't.

Brian's heart burns as he leans against the bar and sips on his drink, watching them move in tandem. Alaska leans down and whispers something that makes Katya laugh, her head flinging back, Adam's apple bobbing. Her hands flutter around Alaska's waist, fingers slipping underneath her T-shirt. Her forehead drops to Alaska's collarbone, and Alaska runs a hand through Katya's hair, eyes closed, swaying back and forth.

When the song ends, they break apart. Katya heads toward Brian, and he averts his gaze, pretending to look to the left of them.

"Hey, I'm going to the bathroom. Make sure no one makes fun of his dancing," Katya whisper-screams.

"What if I do?"

"He'll laugh." She squeezes Brian's shoulder. "Thanks."

He shakes his head and looks back at Alaska, some of her hair is stuck to her forehead, and her shirt is still rucked up from Katya's hand. She spins, stumbles, and spots Brian staring. She waves, smile goofy and wide, before crooking her finger and beckoning him forward. He shakes his head no, and she nods yes.

Brian takes a last sip of his drink before setting it down behind him, exaggerating a long-suffering sigh and pushing himself up.

He can't actually hear Alaska laugh, but his brain provides the sound.

"Howdy, stranger," Alaska smiles, pretending to tip an imaginary hat.

"Ma'am," Brian answers, bowing before holding out his hand. "Fancy a square dance?"

Alaska takes his hand. Her palm is soft, and she raises their arms up, forces him to twirl her around. "Lead the way, partner."

She grabs his other hand and slots her thin fingers between his. Her hands are cold, just like the club, the bodies around them failing to make up for the air-conditioner going full blast. Alaska swings their arms in and out, wiggling her hips and closing her eyes. Unlike Katya, Brian feels awkward, shifting his weight more than swaying, eyes jumping to the people around them. None of them seem to be paying attention, but he itches to turn around, stretching his neck and trying to spot the people behind him just in case they are.

The song changes, Alaska opens her eyes, and one side of her mouth tilts up. She pulls him closer and drops his hands. Her fingers find his belt loops. "I thought you were going to lead."

"There's no way I can lead a lost cause," he answers, hands floating by his sides.

She laughs, and he feels the warm air of it on his mouth. "Sorry. I'm trying to be found."

Brian laughs, half-hearted, his hands finding purchase on Alaska's forearms. He blinks and pulls them away almost instantly, feeling like he's been burned. She pushes even closer, lining up their hips. He freezes, glancing in the direction of the bathroom. His heart hammers, and Alaska looks at him with wide, serious eyes. She places her hands delicately on his shoulders, tapping out the beat of the music. Her mouth is thin, slanted down. Brian settles his hands on her waist, as lightly as possible. He swallows. She holds his gaze, and he can't breathe.

The ache in his heart builds, builds, builds.

Then it cracks.

Alaska kisses him.

It's a soft, steady press of her lips to his. His eyes flutter shut. He melts, knees dropping an inch and hands tightening around her hips, feeling her protruding bones through her jeans. The kiss is warm, and despite the cold, his entire body is on fire, electric and pulsing. Brian didn't know he missed this. He didn't know he could miss someone he speaks to so often, someone he only hooked up with once. But he did.

It takes too long for him to pull away, because any time at all is too long.

"Katya," he breathes.

A soft hue of blush paints Alaska's cheeks. Her eyes bright. "She'll be so jealous I got there first." Her voice is shot, breathy and light and lilting.

"What?" Brian glances toward the bathroom, but he doesn't see Katya making her way over to punch him yet.

"We've talked about it," Alaska says, her voice full of laughter. "You don't think you're so irresistible that I'd cheat on him?" 

Brian shakes his head, a self-deprecating chuckle pouring out of his mouth. "This is unbelievable."

Alaska's eyebrows furrow, her eyes dilated like she's drunk. "Wait, was that ... okay?" she asks, taking a step back. Her face pales. "Sorry, I thought--"

"Ladies!" Katya shrieks, throwing her arms around both of their shoulders. "I hope they didn't play any good music while I was gone."

Brian looks at Katya, and then back at Alaska. She's worrying her bottom lip between her teeth, eyes downcast. "No Erykah Badu," he says.

"Thank god!" Katya grins, pulling Alaska and Brian closer.

They both stumble, their hands going around her waist, and when Brian's bumps Alaska's, she shifts her hand up and away. She looks down at Katya, eyes wide. "I think I made a mistake."

"Huh?"

"I kissed him," she says.

Brian watches Katya's mouth part, eyebrows shooting up. "Bitch! Finally!"

Alaska clenches her jaw, shaking her head.

Katya turns to Brian. "Wait, what happened?"

He inhales, pulls himself out of Katya's grip. His heart is going wild again. "I'm confused."

Katya leans in, causing Alaska to shift with him, the two of them still touching. "Can I kiss you?" she asks.

She's asked before: while they're filming and when they do joint shows, small pecks that simultaneously mean nothing except for the screaming of the crowd, the comments they'll get on Youtube, and everything. Tiny little assurances. She used to ask seriously, too, before season seven finished airing, when she was open about wanting to fuck him. She was always nonchalant about it, though, skirting around anything uncomfortable. But this is different, her eyes focused on him, lips dry and twisted in seriousness.

He exhales and catches Alaska's eye. "Sure."

Katya kisses like Brian imagined she would. Her lips are firm and solid against his own, and she's unflinching. It takes him a moment to realize he can participate, move his mouth against hers and not feel like it's weird or wrong. Instead, he wants to move closer. It's somehow sweeter than he would have expected, though. She tastes like cinnamon, and her hand finds its way to his face, thumb brushing against his cheek.

He follows her when she pulls away, and it takes a couple of blinks to clear his vision, find focus. "Okay," he says.

"Is it?" Alaska asks.

He eyes the lack of space between them. Katya's hand has fallen to the small of Alaska's back, and Alaska twists a ring around her finger. Katya's looking at him the same way she did before she kissed him, her lips parted, and he feels it swelling in his chest. He loves them. He really does. He's in love with them. He reaches out, uses Katya's shoulder as leverage, and kisses Alaska.

She sighs into his mouth, relieved, and it turns into a smile pressed against his lips.

 

 

They stumble back to Alaska and Katya's place. 

The drink Brian had has long faded from his bloodstream, the beating of his heart and fuzziness in his brain solely the product of kissing and light touches that promise to be more. They fall into bed, haphazardly pulling off clothes. Justin's hands roam, a different pressure than Brian's mouth nipping down his chest. It's almost too much. He's never had a threesome before, but he doesn't think that's it. There's something about these two people. He loves them, and they love him. They haven't said it, but he knows.

Brian bites at the eye painted onto his chest, and Justin's fingers trace over her symbol, spelling out the individual letters: A L A S K A.

He kisses both of Brian's wrists, the crown and the star.

"That's Justin," he says, voice quiet and awed, thumb brushing across the crown. He taps his finger over the blue vein that runs through the star. He's seen her marks before, but it feels like the first time. "And that's me."

He's never seen Justin's marks, though, and he remembers the intern from _Drag Race_ telling him they were on her ass. It feels like a lifetime ago, when she didn't mean anything to him, when he just wanted a gossipy distraction from a beating in his heart so different from the way it vibrates in his chest now.

The intern was right.

There are two lipstick prints: Trixie pink and Katya red.

His heart catches in his throat, and he splays his palm over them, the corner of each mouth peeking out.

"You've definitely put on lipstick for the sole person for kissing over this, haven't you?" he asks.

"Duh." Brian rolls her eyes, but a smile flirts around her lips.

Justin looks back over her shoulder, lifting herself up on her forearms. "More than once."

 

 

Brian sautés spinach and onion for his omelette, hip resting against the counter and squinting out the window. The smell of coffee permeates the kitchen, and anxiety flutters around his stomach. He knows it's ridiculous. His mom has been supportive, had even said "I told you so" over the phone when he broke the news. But she didn't tell him so, and they had bantered back and forth about that before he sighed, rubbing a hand over his face, and relenting.

He finishes his omelette, sliding it onto a chipped plate before starting one for his mom.

By the time the front door opens, Brian's finished breakfast, prepared coffee for his mom and Katya, and avoided putting anything in Alaska's tea, because she hates it. There were only so many ways he could organize four plates around the kitchen table, and he figured she wouldn't notice if he dissolved a pinch of sugar in the bitter earl grey. She might actually thank him when it tastes better, so the fact that he didn't is a huge feat.

"Hi, Mom," he greets, rushing to the small entryway, kissing her cheek and prying her purse out of her fingers. Alaska lugs her suitcase inside, and Katya reaches behind her to close the door. "How was the flight?"

"Too early." Her smile is well-worn, the wrinkles around her eyes deeper than the last time Brian saw her. "But half-empty. You didn't have to spring for business class."

"It's the only way I can impress you."

"Not true! You have two very sweet boyfriends."

"We are very sweet." Katya smiles a shit-eating grin, knowing Brian won't smack her in front of his mother.

"We're taking her to the dentist after breakfast," Alaska pipes up.

Brian snorts and rolls his eyes, but he's pleased by how his mom shifts to smile at her: "Did you get that joke from Brian?"

Katya wheeze-laughs. "Brian wishes he were that funny, Mom."

"Mom?" Brian's eyes bug, and he chokes on nothing.

"They're your soulmates, Brian, they can call me Mom. Even if this one here doesn't believe in marriage," she says, pointing at Katya with her thumb. "I'll let it slide, but only because our court system has yet to figure out how to deal with this universe-approved arrangement. I've checked."

Alaska bites around a smile. Brian knows because she does it a lot, especially with Katya.

His mom peeks over his shoulder, edging around him and heading for the table. "Now, did you make sausage, or am I going to be disappointed?"

"Ah-ha!" Katya says, skipping after her. "He made sausage, because I am your fellow carnivore."

"See, I knew I liked you for a reason."

"Not the only carnivore," Alaska whispers to Brian. "But she doesn't need to know about last night."

They all settle around the small table, and Alaska lets his mom try her tea, laughing when she puckers her lips and grimaces. Katya's knee presses against Brian's, and she dominates the conversation. Her shoulders are pulled back, she sits up straight, and it's almost like she's onstage. She tells an embarrassing story about almost peeing her pants in elementary school, because she didn't want to draw attention to herself by asking the teacher to use the restroom. His mom counters with the time Brian got carsick and they didn't have Dramamine, so he vomited all over himself.

It's appropriately awful.

"I'm trying to eat," he says.

"Oh, honey," his mom laughs. "We don't want you getting sick again."

Alaska and Katya laugh, but Katya rubs Brian's thigh, comforting circles that help keep his breathing even.

He's embarrassed himself more in front of Katya and Alaska than his mom ever could, but the stress comes from somewhere abstract. Katya's met his mom before, but it's different this time. This time she's his future. She and Alaska both are. It feels more important and permanent than anything else in his life. Telling his mom he wanted to wear makeup, put on a dress and perform in clubs was less pressure.

"Is there anything you want to do while you're here?" Alaska asks his mom.

He shoots her a smile, grateful for the change in topic.

"Hollywood Boulevard! I need to see Bob Hope's star. And the sign, of course." His mom hums, finger circling the rim of her mug. "I've never seen the ocean before, so that might be fun."

"You've never seen the ocean?" Alaska asks, tone curious but polite, eyebrows furrowed.

"Oh, no. Lake Michigan is the closest I've gotten."

"It's basically the same thing," Katya says.

His mom nods. "That's what I always thought." 

Alaska laughs. "It's different, too. You'll feel it when we go. Would you want to see a drag show, too? There's always a drag brunch on Sundays."

His mom tilts her head and scrunches her nose, sighing. "No. I don't think so. Like how coffee isn't your thing? Drag shows aren't my thing. I listened to your song, the one about tea, I hated it. Rap is awful, and it was crude."

Brian can feel Katya's body vibrating with the urge to laugh, and he knows she and Alaska are going to bring this up constantly for the next six months. 

Alaska blinks. "I'm sorry."

"Don't worry, I once made the mistake of watching the Brians' show." She shutters. "Disgusting and nonsensical."

Katya wheezes, Alaska laughs, and Brian makes a show of banging his head against the table. "Learn some tact, Mom."

"Why?" she asks. "You don't have any."

"Oh my god," he mutters. 

"I see where he gets his sense of humor." Alaska smiles, bright and winning. "Are mani-pedis your thing, though?"

"Yes! I'd love that. But I don't want to waste my trip to see you all alone in a salon."

Alaska's palm flutters to her chest. She blinks slow and gasps. "I'm getting one."

"Count me in," Katya adds. 

"Brian?" His mom asks, eyebrows arched knowingly. 

"I think ... I'll skip that."

"You're always a party pooper, huh?"

He rolls his eyes. "You wouldn't let me play with dolls as a kid, and now I don't want to paint my nails pink and it's a problem?"

Katya leans across the table. "This is better, anyway. You can tell us all of his embarrassing childhood stories without him metaphorically retching over all our fun."

His mom cackles, and Katya squeezes his knee, sending a wink his way. 

 

 

He drops his mom off at the airport five days later. She thanks him for a good trip, even though she swears she never wants to come back. "You'll visit me," she says, decided.

"You bet." He smiles. 

She grabs his hand, her skin papery and thin, and leans in. "You did good. Brian and Justin. I don't understand it, but you're all very happy. It's right."

He shrugs. "The marks make sense."

"Of course. But that's not what I mean."

"What do you mean?" He frowns, slouching so he's shorter, tilting his head. They're not at eye level, but his mom's spirit is so tall it feels like they are. 

"So many people exhaust themselves trying to find the one, and when they do," she pauses, holding up her hand. They've argued about this before ("There are billions of people in this world. My soulmate's probably in China." She had rolled her eyes: "Then you better start learning Chinese."), but he wasn't planning on doing it an hour before she gets back on a plane to Wisconsin. "And when they do find them, and they always do, they're too tired. They've made too many other bad choices along the way. It says more about all three of you that you made the right choices to get here than those marks ever did." 

He swallows around the lump in his throat. "Thanks, Mom."

"Anytime, honey." She stands on her tiptoes, hugging him tight, rubbing circles into his back. She rests her hand over his heart. "Right here," she says, accompanied by a single tap. "I'm proud of you."

 

 

He gets home two hours later.

Katya sits on the sofa, chewing on her bottom lip, an astrology book spread over her lap. 

"What's up?" he asks. 

"Justin's packing for his flight, and I'm trying to figure out what part of his star chart means that," she pauses, raising her voice so Alaska can hear, "he has to throw his clothes all over the floor every single time!"

Alaska emerges from their designated drag room, stringy, orange, shake-and-go wig on her head, a bra hanging off her finger. "If you could just keep to your corner of the room, it wouldn't be a problem."

Katya looks down at her book, finger running along the page. "What time were you born again?"

"I don't know," she huffs, slinging the bra at Katya. 

Brian watches them argue for a moment -- about who's neater (he is, but he doesn't say that), who does the most cleaning (whoever happens to be home), the value of astrology (he has his doubts) -- the fight ending with Alaska texting her mom for information on her birth time and coordinates. Katya thanks her, agreeing to wash her pads before she goes. 

"What are you going to do?" Katya asks. 

"Huh?"

"Well, Justin's packing and I'm washing his disgusting ass pads. You need to pull you weight in this relationship." 

He shakes his head in faux disbelief. "I'm agreeing to date two selfish narcissists. What more do you want from me?"

Alaska chuckles, wrapping an arm around his waist and pulling him into her side. "As if you're not a selfish narcissist, too."

"You're the worst," Katya says, arm snaking next to Alaska's, hand finding her belt loop and pulling her closer. "Love you losers."

"I'm a winner," Alaska says reflexively. "But, I love you both, too."

Brian breathes out a laugh. "How did I get so lucky?"

Alaska hums, pressing a kiss to his temple.

Katya answers: "Just lucky, I guess."

 

 

Life gives him not one, but two marks over his heart.

Along with them, he gets the two most annoying, frustrating people he has ever known. Alaska always waits until the last minute to pack, whether it's for work or for a vacation to Hawaii. She stresses Katya and him out, and it's almost enough that they refuse to go anywhere with her. She screams bloody murder any time she finds a centipede or silverfish in the bathroom, and cuddles close to Brian at night, latching on and making him too hot. Katya cracks a window open and smokes inside, the scent embedding itself into the furniture and lingering. She refuses to get a pet, arguing there's never a guarantee any of them will be home to take care of it, and shaking her head when they suggest different pet sitting options. She FaceTimes Alaska and him in the middle of the night, after gigs when she can't sleep, with no respect for timezones, waking them up and chatting their ears off about nothing and everything.

Brian knows he's not all that he's cracked up to be, either: he has the bad habit of leaving just enough in a container -- leftover takeout, juice, cereal -- that he doesn't have to throw it out, but not enough for Alaska and Katya to actually enjoy whatever it is. He forgets to put the toilet seat down, and he always interrupts when they're trying to talk through a problem with him. He asks, and then refuses to listen to their ideas and advice, causing them to roll their eyes and groan. So, he can't complain too much. Only a little.

Besides, Alaska and Katya are also the best people he has ever known. Alaska never fails to send a text making sure their flights landed safely, even though he and Katya don't know how she keeps track when she can hardly keep her own schedule straight, and sometimes they don't even know when they're going from one city to the next themselves. She updates the grocery list on the fridge without fail, and mumbles cute things in her sleep when she's overly tired. Katya always senses when either of them need a hug, even if she's just walked in the door. She doesn't complain about being the only one who ever takes out the garbage, and she marks passages in books she thinks they might like with post-its, a paragraph about why slanting upward on them.

Every kiss is nice. Little pecks on the corners of mouths when they part, hot, open-mouthed things in the middle of the day because they have time and attraction sparks in their blood, sweet and steady assurances when they laugh at each other, the taste of it soothing any potential hurt.

Brian loves them.

He stands in the archway, bowl of popcorn in his right hand, one can of pop in his left, and the other under his armpit. The menu on the DVD loops, and the lights are off, so Brian strains to see. He watches Alaska and Katya, leaning into each other on the sofa and splitting Oreos in half, Katya eating the side with more frosting. He loves them so much he feels like he might combust, except it's good. Better than good.

Alaska spots him first, a smile stretching over her mouth. "Hurry up, we miss you."

Brian rolls his eyes. "I've been gone for less than two minutes."

"Don't care," Katya says, patting the spot next to her. "This song is giving me a headache."

"Yeah, me too," he agrees with a quiet laugh.

The flame in his chest burns, always reigniting but never fading away, something he can count on to keep him warm and comfortable and safe. A blazing fire he knows, somehow, stupidly, will never burn out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading and leaving kudos and comments. It really does mean so much to me and has made the process of creation a bit easier and more fun: from outlining to writing to editing. I hope it all came together for you, didn't disappoint, and the ending was satisfying.
> 
> Again, all I can say, even though it doesn't properly express my gratitude, is thank you <3


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